Midnighters
by Gretchiro
Summary: The reasons why Celeste betrayed Faith and the Runners. Shouj-ai with OC's and ME characters. Once you pass Chapter 5, you will understand why the story exists. For character drawings: /
1. Mr Blue Sky

Author's Note: the first couple chapters describe the Runner's feel, introducing a feel of Celeste, just to give those who haven't played the game a feel of the characters, plot, events, etc. The game was weak in plot, providing nothing much on the cool characters besides Faith. I wanted Celeste, being so hot and mysterious, to have her side of the story. Once you're pass chapter five, you will understand everything behind Celeste's reasons for betraying the Runners. For pictures of the characters, go to . Type in the search box exactly "by:duskricorn", and search my gallery for the titled pictures "Runners", "The Shard Sisters", and "Ari". I have "Tony" to last update onto my gallery, yet. You will know who they all are if you eventually read through my whole story.

Mr. Blue Sky

I know it's not clever to be listening to an iPod while Running—but you have to admit, iPods are still one of the sweetest inventions mankind has ever come up with. Life is a playlist, after all: there's the song for your car, the song when you get into fights the songs for the loss of someone dear, the song for cooking in your kitchen, for parties, walking in the city, being with friends, when you go to sleep, when you're next to the ocean.

The blinding white world below me was a swift blur; the sky was the only stroke of color that seemed a nice, infinite blue gravity. Just buildings, buildings, buildings; maybe some condos here, an apartment there, a cluster of houses here. But it was just a clean city, the product of tyranny and utopian safety. You barely saw stains and bird crap. That's what made it so annoying to look at and live in: too perfect, like a dream in which you knew your time was up; time to wake up, reality's ugly and imperfect—I wonder why campaigner Callaghan didn't accept that.

If you heard Lily Allen's songs, you could _so_ imagine Runners jumping everywhere above the unaware citizens of Callaghan's city. That was the beauty of it: being able to exist without being known.

_"Sun is shininin' in the sky. There ain't a cloud in sight. It's stopped rainin' everybody's in a play, and don't you know? It's a beautiful day, heyyyy . . .!"_

"Celeste—!"

I plucked out the earpiece from my ear, Lily Allen's "Mr. Blue Sky" muted. I pressed my fingers against my earpiece to hear my trainer and ex-Runner top man.

"Hey, Merc."

Mercury's alto, sarcastic, yet strangely hysterical tone gave another series of curses. "Shit, what did I tell you about iPods? Blues could have snuck up on you—and because _why_? Because you blasted your la-la notes too high. _C'mon_!"

I smirked, calm. _Awe, Merc._

"Are you going to say 'shit' all day, or you gonna tell me what you got, Merc?" I said, stopping at the edge of a rooftop.

Merc gave a quick exhale, the way a quick-tempered, yet kind father would do. He was kind of like those kind, barking, yet calm sergeants, if that made any sense. Fast to agitate, fast to calm down.

"Faith's back. I want you to meet her at our new training grounds and get her back in shape. Ya know, just in case."

Hearing my fellow Runner's name lit my eyes up. It's been three or four weeks since I've seen her Running. She miscalculated a jump, fell—a rather embarrassing, yet tragic error for a Runner—and broke a leg, I think.

"Sure thing, Merc," I replied, redoing my blonde ponytail.

"Great. And don't listen to your music, you hear me?" added Mercury stringently. All authority.

A boastful grin creased my lips. "Yeah, I know."

"Git going."

"Later, Merc."

_"Runnin' down the avenue. See how the sun shines brightly in the city. On the streets where once was pity . . ."_

I really never preferred the streets, not like Lily Allen described it in such a casual, city-lover excitement. We Runners are different from those people. We live on the Edge. It wasn't just the mystery of seeing the utopian skyscraper glass reflecting who you really are that made the Mirorr's Edge so worth dying for. It was that strange, dangerous feeling where you knew any leap could mean death or getting arrested—but you did it anyway. You had the power to leap or fall. It was all self-control, determining your motions, your direction, your fate. You on the Edge against the world below you. It sounds egotistic, but there is no harm in it when no one else is affected by it. No one really knows we exist—yeah, everyone does, but they don't _look_.

_"Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, heyyyy . . ."_

The exhilaration of lightness flushed throughout all my fingertips, limbs, stomach, and heart as I accelerated. I ducked and slid under air vents, strode and leaped over pipes or boxes, and propelled my heavy weight to a flight of lightness as my sturdy palms and flexible, springy fingers dragged me weightlessly over fences or other rooftop obstacles. It was a train of the Runner's flow: quick, beautiful, light, controlled, and yet still free. It seriously had that taste of destiny, which was in your strides, your decisions.

There was an electrical, fuzzy hiss from our communicators.

Then, I heard Merc talking to Faith on our comms: "Training time, Faith. Yeaah, I know you hate it. But that fall took you out of commission for a while. Now that you're back, you gotta keep it sharp. Check out our new training grounds. Pretty slick, huh? Celeste's not running out on duty, so just get to her, and go with the flow, okay?"

My heart trotted up to a catchy beat, increasing as I saw ahead pipes in my "Runner's vision" up ahead. Timing my rapid footsteps to my accelerating heart rate, I pumped my arms, quickened and widened my feline-like legs, pushed forward, ejected the heels and soles of my feet off the edge of my current rooftop, and soared: my legs were nearly horizontal below me as if I was nearly doing a split; but the second they did, I made them kick in the air as all my limbs flailed while keeping my focus on the pipes. I thudded against them with a loud hallow _boom_ and a triumphant grunt. I looked up, climbing, feeling the metallic red pipe under my one bare hand. Turned to my left, saw the other pipe, stretched and jumped, and landed against it, hugging it like a koala bear to its tree. Scrambled up lithely, clambered over the edge with a swoop of my lean legs, and continued my dash to Faith.

_"Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why you had to hide away for so long? Where did we go wrong?"_

My first favorite line in the entire song. The city was dangerous, yet beautiful. Now it's safe, and ugly. Apparently the city was sane enough to vote for a tyrannical mayor. The city's whose protest oppressions against Callaghan's reelection led to our jobs as Runners. I don't even remember the reasons for voting for such a mayor, it was so long ago. But, you know, in my honest opinion, being the messengers for the rebels didn't mean some Runners agreed with their clients.

_"Hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race!"_

I wondered what Lily Allen meant there, back then in 2006, 2007, 2008, etc. Sometimes I thought I knew, but I still don't know. I don't even know why I'm still a Runner going against chances I knew weren't mine—_ours_, the Runners.

Always Running.

Why capitalize the word "Running"? Since when were we given such labels? We humans have that weird urgency to label things we truly don't know anything about, as though experiments. I mean, I _am_ proud of my title as a topnotch Runner—one of the best, under Merc, actually . . .

I was going to put the philosophy life into further consideration, but I saw a black figure leaping like a black panther down toward the training grounds.

Faith Connors.

I found a small smile pull at my face. I slowed down, stopping at a wide rooftop, our "new" training ground, according to Merc. The added adjective "new" had no effect on me considering all the buildings and every godforsaken human were the same in this city.

By the time Faith reached orange stairs, I tucked two fingers to my mouth and blew a hitch-pitched birdlike whistle. I saw that small Eurasian silhouette of hers turn to me; I waved. She didn't wave, just kept on Running—_running_—toward me.

She gave a final jump and leap off a board that jutted out onto the slope of my rooftop. When she ran up to me, I gave her a quick flicker of observations:

Hasn't changed. Still wore her favorite black tank top with the white strips striking down the sides of her torso, meeting the whitish cargo pants with strings choking the lower right hem. Her favorite red running shoes squeaked softly like a feline's padded feet when she shifted on her feet, as if pumped.

Faith was quiet for once, but she gave me an acknowledgeable nod of a smile. I wondered if those scars from her fall were there. Nope, it was all gone: flawless white skin; long, defined planes of jaws meeting rather thin lips for someone who was half Asian. Her ink-black hair swayed thinly high above her shoulders, bangs covering what faded eyebrows were there, her tight Asian eyes most definitely lukewarm. They greeted me with a thin, lit up darkness.

Can't forget her famous eye tattoo: two jagged triangles poured down from the bottom of her right eye, one taller than the other. I couldn't help but think teasingly, _Her make-up's running. _

I stretched my quads, hugging my calves against the back of my quads. Then, I reached forward to pat. "Hi, Faith, welcome back," I said with a gentle, small smile.

She curled her fists, ready for Running. It was her only life to her, so she treated it with seriousness, yet fiery passion. My eyes retraced the intricate block-looking black tattoo branding her entire right arm, a symbol of her secret dedication, her story.

"Didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon," I added quickly in a friendly, lit-up tune.

I casually bobbed on my feet before slightly turning, my back facing her, beckoning her with a quick wave, as I dashed across another random board that jutted out and leaped on to a lower rooftop. Then, the flow returned through my veins as I tackled a fence, climbing and leaping over it. I turned, waiting for her patiently and quietly with an observant expression.

Faith had her few falls every now and then, making me regret for not being last every time she attempted old tricks. She once nearly missed a jump; I had to haul her back up. Nevertheless, we continued. Training was done within seven minutes, Merc told me I had to do some errands while wondering if Faith herself was ready for her first mission back.

"First thing's first, Cel. Pizza, then taking the package from Faith at the east communications tower," added Merc.

"See ya later, Faith," I told her rather cheerfully. I bobbed once again on my feet before jogging away.

--

_Hell, Merc,_ I thought furiously as I got pizza. You'd think an old tramp Runner like him would be able to get his own pizza, rather than sending the delivery girl. He was occupying himself guiding Faith on her first mission back.

Runners need to be able to get the pizza or shop for clothing once in a while. How else would we live? Plus, even though I'd prefer the rooftops, it's nice to be able to walk like a normal civilian amongst the crowd, not being chased by Blues. It'd be a waste of money to have us being the ones hiring other normal people to deliver our necessities. My eyes caught hold of a new hot-red case for my iPod. I was in the mood for music, and I wanted my attire as well as my iPod to match it. Normally, Merc would be watching me and condemning me for my shopping desires, but he just sent me for pizza, what made this any more dangerous?

I've been in this Fye store before. Good stuff. Once I found my case to my liking, I greeted my daily acquaintance, Ari, who was the cashier.

"Hey, Cel," she welcomed with a small smile of her thick, full lips.

"Hey."

It wasn't that I was much of a talker; I didn't want to risk letting her know who I was, where I came from, and what intentions I brought with me. The iPod case purchase was self-explanatory; otherwise, other random questions she prodded at me did not often have an answer. An obvious, distinct blonde and dark blue-eyed woman like me would be easy to track down, whether by camera or word.

"For a nano iPod?" asked Ari as she took my purchase as well as my money, scanning it and all of that.

"Yeah. The small ones are the best," I stated, avoiding talk.

"Hm," she returned with a thoughtful smile, trashing my purchase into a plastic bag. "It's been a while."

"Yeah. Work's got me." Once again, avoiding talk. Plus, I'm sure Merc was getting low awaiting his pizza. I was on the scale trying to determine whether or not to just let him suffer a few growls in his gut. _Worse than getting punched, I know, Merc. _This was payback for all my failed attempts against him during training. He always talked like a Jedi master-wannabe, the wise cracks and everything.

The cashier handed me small plastic bag. "Stop by more often, ya?"

Ari was good kid, though. Only nineteen, but with the small, hollow, cute voice of what you would have mistook belonged to an innocent, yet mature 11-year-old on the other side of a phone conversation. It was so appealing and cute for a mature-looking girl like her. She had pale-silver eyes that were strangely addicting to stare at from afar in contrast to her somewhat tan skin. Today was Friday; she wore her favorite: circular yellow flat-eyed goggles resembling swimming goggles. They tangled well into her mop-of-a-hair, though most of it seemed curly or wavy, I couldn't tell. Some bang-like strands of hair framed her pronounced cheeks. Apart from her face and short, tousled hair, I gave her fashion taste an admirable scan.

"Hey," I began, trying to be polite as I reached forward and gave a tug at her scarf. "This is new."

It was black-and-white, striped, and long as hell. You could hang someone with it. It complimented her attire, well: leather-blue, sleeveless vest that bared her arms. A black shirt underneath met her white belt, which held up rather kick-ass camouflage cargo pants of black and white, like the TV channel when it went "buzzzzzz". I leaned over her counter, taking in the large black marine-like boots that consumed her from knee to toe. I would dress like her, but my kind of taste would define me out of a crowd like the ugly duckling, me being a Runner.

Ari beamed, eyes seeming to absorb more light, highlighting them in this blinding shade of blue. So warm. She'd make a great friend, but being a Runner had its limits with relationships, other than your fellow Runners. I loved Faith and Merc, but only because we shared the same passion, the same cause. Sometimes I felt it was better to have a friend who didn't do or liked what I did, like Running . . .

"So you noticed?" chirped Ari, pulling at the part of the scarf choking her throat. "I'm surprised. We barely see each other."

"Yet you always sound like you're trying to get to know me, stalker."

"In this city, gotta grab what you can," she reminded. Wise words; she was right.

She and I, without thinking, looked all around us, specifically at the corners of the store. Whether or not there were cameras visible, we knew they were there. Everyone in this city knew, nor didn't care.

"So, a date, then?" jested Ari, knuckling my arm with a soft pound of her gloved hand.

Just as I smiled, a frown weighed me down. I realized I was picking up a friend. Her cheery expression faded from its glow as she eyed me quizzically. That sickening feeling knotted inside my gut as I realized, of all people, customers or not, she wanted to befriend _me_.

"Cel?" _And to be able to use my nickname already._

I gave a tiny smile. "Sorry. Dazed. I gotta get going. Things for work."

She went along, serious for my sake. "Kay. See you around, hopefully."

_Sorry, can't. We're not friends,_ I snapped at myself as I left the store. When I abandoned the mall in the parking lot, I dragged along the traffic sidewalks to get Merc's pizza.


	2. Project Icarus

Chapter 2:

Project Icarus

Just as I left the store, holding the pizza against my chest and absorbing its toasty warmth, an electrical shifting was audible in my right ear. I pressed against my comms.

"Merc?"

I heard rapid panting, the clamor of footsteps against cement, and the swift shift of location and motion. Then, gunfire ensued.

Merc's low, gentle voice panicked into my ear. "Shit. Cel, it's Faith—"

The gunfire seemed louder. Getting closer.

Nonchalantly, I joined a crowd of pedestrians crossing traffic. I kept my finger from my ear as I lowered my voice casually, "What the hell's happening? I can hear gunfire."

Merc gave a succinct overview of Faith's situation. I didn't say anything as I listened intently: for some reason, the Blues were firing at Faith, even though she hadn't done a thing. She was just carrying our yellow bags or suitcases with our clients' messages in them. Normally, the Blues would leave us alone, concerning themselves with bigger matters.

After walking a distance, I found an alley and slipped into it. From there, I tossed Merc's pizza into the alley trash, executed a wall-run, and reached for some fire staircases.

Grazing my way through a maze of rooftop obstacles, I halted cautiously at the Edge. I peeked over, stepping backwards, already hearing the shouts of Blues, the aggravating whir of the helicopters, and the thirsty thunders of gunfire.

"I see her," I said to Merc, seeing her figure explode out from a red door on a lower rooftop. Hints of flying bullets bit into her surroundings: walls, signs, boxes, fences, around her feet.

From a safe distance, I anxiously awaited her to get closer. As much as I wanted to help my friend, I couldn't blow my cover. She wouldn't get the help she needed. Once Faith switched rooftops, disarmed an approaching cop, and shot down his backup comrade, she jumped from the rooftop to the fire staircases of the building next to me. Just as she cruised up a ladder, I whistled and waved the moment I saw her climb over the edge.

"Hey, up here!" I shouted, waving frantically.

She looked up instantly, blinded at first by the sky-high sun behind me.

I urged, "Throw me the bag!"

I don't know why I shouted a stupid thing like that, afraid she'd fail to throw it, but without hesitation she tossed it accurately up to me. I caught the yellow bag.

"They're playing rough, Cel," she told me in our comms.

"I'll be fine—" My eyes flicked to the black-clad SWAT forces that just filtered out of a door yards behind Faith. With an urgent flick of my arm, I shouted, "Get GOING!"

The SWAT team didn't seem to notice me, with me being so high up. Their aim auto-locked on Faith, in front of them. She turned, and already ran toward the far end of their rooftop. I heard the deafening rush of a helicopter, then, saw it emerge from the horizon of the edge Faith was about to jump.

I heard Merc demand hastily, "Faith, find a way off that roof. I don't care how you do it, just DO it!"

And Faith jumped, catching hold of the lower bars of the helicopter. I didn't know whether that helicopter was friendly or not, but Faith hung there while the helicopter dragged her farther from the rooftop, on which the SWAT team stood on in silent watch, guns still raised.

I didn't waste time. Even though this was Faith's mission, the Blues' threatening involvement made the mission being _her_ safety first. This bag was full of vital information, so I decided it was up to me. With the flick of my heels, I jolted out of sight, strapping the light bag around my torso.

After hearing Merc tell Faith, "Get your ass back to base, Faith," I assumed she was safe according to his calmer, yet frustrated tone. However, that didn't mean I could slow down. For all we know, there could have been cameras, or a hidden jet, or some double agent Runner watching me and sending Blues after me. A Runner never stopped Running.

I jumped a fence, landed, somersaulted, and continued my run. After Faith's safety was confirmed, Merc's voice returned to my line of communication.

"Got the bag, Cel?"

"Yeah," I replied, my breathing smooth and even as I jumped off a wall onto higher air vents attached to the sides of buildings.

Merc began to steer me toward my destination. "Head north. One of Drake's clients will be waiting at the bottom of a laundry chute inside the main hotel there. Don't worry, he's disguised as an employee. He'll be putting a laundry basket full of towels at the bottom of the chute. Just keep hidden when you enter the laundry room. Then, return to base. Make it quick, or I'll start worrying. We nearly lost Faith already on her first day back."

The grounds of the main roads were close enough for a safe jump and land. I waved my arms gradually; they contained my wingspan and balance as I landed and rolled again to avoid damage. I stopped and crouched behind a cluster of recycling bins and other black trash bags.

"Got all of that, Cel?"

"Yep. I'll be back. Faith okay?"

"Yep. Don't worry about her—it's _you_ out on the rooftops."

The line broke in a cracked voice, signaling Merc's leave.

Citizens walked by, all unaware. I decided I was safer on my homely rooftops rather than on the streets, considering the Blues were not Runners. I found footing between some pipes and the wall above me, so I climbed like a free climber, keeping in the shadows on this balmy day. When I reached the top, I was blinded for a second. The stupid city's shininess really pestered me. I was actually considering stealing the next Blue's sunglasses I'd come across, not that they carried any around at all.

As I raced across rooftops, leaping like a mountain goat, the rhythm of my Runner's flow was interrupted by new beats.

Foot steps: determined, and quick.

Merc's voice broke out again. Like static, he barked, "LOSE THEM, CELESTE!"  
As I jumped over another series of obstacles, I gave a quick glance over my shoulders. The sight completely sent my heart racing ahead of me, leaving me breathless, and in befuddlement:

Runners—no, not Runners.

Two of them. They were all in black—no, dark, dark, black-like blue—that's the only thing I bothered taking note of. They ran like sprinters in the Olympics, I was beginning to wonder if I had any chance of escape.

"Keep running, Cel, don't look back," snapped Merc, his cloaked, velvety voice betrayed by audible trepidation.

I pumped my arms harder, the engines of my speed. I already found them aching, fired with this overwhelming hellish heat and exhaustion.

"CEL—!" began Merc, but his voice suddenly went haywire. It broke off and the silence smoothed into static like a damaged radio.

"Merc?" I said, my voice a bit dead from panic. I was panting.

_Stay calm, Celeste, _I told myself hastily. My conscious was drained out by the pounding of my pursuers' footsteps gaining on me. _You're a topnotched Runner. Show off._

I jumped and caught another flagpole hanging by an office building's window, and swung. Next, I let go instantly and landed on the restaurant's porch nearby. I knocked the chairs and tables behind me, hoping for their delay to benefit. Then, I jumped the porch rail and found myself on the main road, where all networks of roads intertwined. Cars and pedestrians beeped and hollered as I suddenly took the risk of dashing through the open eye of public. I launched myself over the hood of a car that nearly ran into me, ricocheting off its gaining momentum: like a pouncing lion, my body stretched, my powerful arms balancing my torso onto the hood, and helped boost me off the hood, my legs following below me. It was what we were trained for.

My pursuers relentlessly followed.

_Shit. A trap._

I never saw anything like it, not in my days of experience. Two more came at me from my side, off the rooftops of nearby stores and malls. Being out in the streets felt suddenly foreign to me, seeing all these black figures charging at me from two different directions, surrounded by nothing but white and people—it all made me dizzy. I nearly tilted sideways, out of confusion and shock. But, keeping it steady, I kept dashing, knowing I still had energy.

"Let's go, go, GO!" shouted one of my pursuers: male.

Let's face it. In some scientific cases, men were better Runners. The upper body strength was on their side. But I didn't let that falter me. I would demonstrate my true Running skills.

The four black strangers joined up behind me, perfectly forming a horizon line, as if a black rod was chasing me. Just as abruptly, though, they split up. They jumped, soared, tumbled, rolled, and ran on either side of me, two each. I was done showing off—I couldn't do it without risking involving our surrounding audience, whether in cars or walking. Plus, being in public risked more celebrity for me on cameras and the big TV monitors outside on some buildings. I had to get out of the public eye. I couldn't risk my profile being caught. So, I ducked more into bigger crowds of mall shoppers.

I had to challenge them. Whoever they were, they weren't street Runners. As much as they were trained, by the looks of their clone-like, professional attire it didn't take much for one to guess they were part of a rival organization or something. So, I focused on losing them between the thin alleys, in the clusters of everlasting rooftops, and maybe even introduce them to the mirror glass itself.

My only chances of survival, especially without Merc, were places where there were endless rooftops. I couldn't risk running into a harbor or getting cornered into a building. Even the slums were better than this, with darkness being the best cloaking device and the Runner's knowledge of using the environment for granted.

I simply had to lose them.

"Alright, then," I panted to myself, grinning.

They gained on me near a bunch of railed staircases heading up to a mall. Just as I thought they were going to wrestle me down from behind, I lurched toward one of the railings, grabbed a hold onto them, flipped as if on monkeybars, turned, and went through the same rails again back where I had just come from.

_Bet this is something they never see, nor could do,_ I thought with satisfaction. I ran back where I came from, seeing that they had to skid to halts and turn to chase me. They were frustrated, yet astonished.

Then, I realized something. There were only three of them when I used the rail turn.

Someone landed behind me. A bolt of electricity cracked through my system.

"UGH—ack!"

I suddenly tripped forward, but caught myself, stumbling over my own feet and hazy blue vision.

He ZAPPED me. _Shit_.

My vision was staggering, my movements were numb and clumsy, and my heart rate seemed to have frosted, then pulsed rapidly as I managed to dash out of my hostile's reach. I just charged blindly, hoping to find anything in my Runner's vision. My sight was framed by nothing but blue after being zapped.

Shit. _Again_!

My sight was nearly drunk by the blue haze and the electricity branching throughout me. I felt myself numbing, then falling. I was on my stomach in seconds.

_Shit. Shit. SHIT._

_Merc . . . where are you?_

"Just stop fighting back and we'll stop."

_Don't shit-talk me, Callaghan spawn . . ._

A foot nudged me and rolled me onto my back. I just stared up, squinting to get a view of my assailants' faces. Screw that, they were wearing flat-faced barred masks that shielded their faces from any combat damage. It reminded me of football helmets and lacrosse masks combined. As my vision cleared—not that I could fight back anyway since I was practically paralyzed—I saw eye holes, from which determined eyes closed in on me as their bodies did.

"You didn't kill her, did you?"

Only one of them was male, the two others were female.

A black hand reached down to check my pulse. That flow of hatred shot through me as I wanted to smack back so bad, but I couldn't move. My body was still in shock. My heart rate was pumping murderously in my ears, but as I watched them in silent loathing checking my condition, it slowed. They weren't going to kill me. I didn't have to wonder why.

"Get the bag," said one of the females.

_Damn, who were they? I've never seen people like them. _

One of the women easily slipped the bag from around my torso and let it sling over one of her shoulders. She stared down at me.

"Who . . . are you?" I breathed, grunting in effort to move. I succeed only a little, but one of them stepped on me, pressing against my stomach. Like I was in enough pain and helplessness.

"She's hot," he said.

_Wait till I can move again, jackass._

"Already hitting on a Runner, Tony?" inquired the other females. She sounded annoyed.

Through my gritted teeth as I winced at my remaining pain, I growled, "I'll . . . remember that name . . . asshole . . ."

Tony lowered his face above mine. His voice didn't sound perverted whatsoever; it was soft, low, and that of a disciplined gentleman's. If he'd been a serial killer, he could have gotten away with that sultry voice.

"Of course you'll remember it," he teased, stroking my cheek.

I was forced to look into those eye-holes through his mask. They really liked hiding themselves, all armored and black. His eyes were abysses of a rusty darkness. I glared, though my vision was still splitting on me. I felt better, though.

"Tony, get off her! The _mission_!" snarled one of the females.

"Sorry." The jackass stood up, removing his foot.

"You . . ." I began, trying to sit up again after his foot was gone.

"Don't move. You're surrounded, we have your bag, what can you possibly do?" said one of them, crossing her arms.

"Forget it, chick, you have no idea who we are. And it's not as if you'll be even alive to return with information," jeered Tony maliciously.

"Stop nagging her, you're pissing her off," said the one who appeared to be the leader for the day. She nudged by him and towered over me.

"Hey . . ." she began casually, as if we were old-timers.

I didn't say anything, trying to figure out what they wanted. It already sounded like some negotiation, or some offer.

"Not a talker. That's okay," she continued.

I'd rather they killed me off. Listening to them really pissed me off.

"Okay, we'll make it quick, Celeste," she said with a brief sigh.

SHIT. They knew me. They must have been watching me for who knows how long—dammit, I shoulda known! Whatever they wanted from me, it was obvious. I already anticipated the offer:

"We're Project Icarus," she proclaimed.

Then, she lifted her helmet—mask, whatever it was—off, revealing her face, to which her comrades protested. I saw the face of a model, a cute one actually: decently thick eyebrows that arched sharply over piercing, cold, bright blue eyes, lined with heavy makeup; light auburn hair fell lightly and thinned to her shoulders, with side bangs brushed behind one ear. Below her eye, across her nose, and all over her forehead were cute freckles, while the rest of her face was creamy-white. Her lips were thin in contrast to her big eyes, I realized.

"The name's Pepper," she introduced, reaching down her hand as if proposing to help me up. Her voice was so a rich, deep, beautiful voice, almost caring and ambitious. "I'm offering you to live, not to survive. That's your motto, right? What about it?"

My eyes thinned into a scowl. How cheesy.

Pepper gave me this illegible, stone expression. She was so beautiful, yet so cold-looking; as if trying to read me without making herself look predictable.

"_Project_ Icarus?" I growled. It already sounded like bullcrap. Corny title.

"Sounds slick, don't it?" blurted Tony. The other female elbowed him.

"Don't you want to live?" said Pepper, backing up.

"Get better proposals," I snarled in a small voice. As much as I wanted to curse them, I didn't want to talk to them either. "Just kill me."

"The classy response," returned Pepper, her warm voice remaining even and confident and beautiful. "Why don't you think about it?"

"What is this Project Icarus?" I questioned. If I was going to get out of there alive, I had to make sure I brought the information with me.

It was as if I was predictable. Pepper just smiled and shrugged. "You'll find out yourself. Basically, luxury, massages, parties, fancy restaurants, tanning, vacations to tropical paradise, all you could ask for. You won't even have to fear being on the same streets as the Blues. We coexist with them."

_Bullshit_. I knew it. They were for the mayor campaigner Callaghan. And who would ever want to coexist with the _Blues_!?

Indignation knotted my heart the way it flinches when you hear someone's nails against a chalkboard; it fired through my hand, making me involuntarily grab Pepper's hand and fling her over my shoulder.

She landed on her back with a shocked, "UGMPH!"

My furious impulse happened so fast. Instantly, Tony and the other female zapped me once. It was enough to freeze me, while Tony slapped me in the back of the head.

"Geeze, manners," he growled, stepping back. "But god, you're hot when in action."

"Tony, SHUDDAP," snapped his friend, who was helping Pepper up.

In quiet anger, Pepper smacked away her friend with her elbow in refusal. She stood up on her own, smacking the dirt off her (c'mon, bitch, there _is_ no dirt, not in _this_ city!). Those bright eyes flared at me, it was kind of pretty—but my pain overruled those thoughts as I tried to recover from the shock.

Pepper glared at me as she walked over.

Tony offered her, "I'll torture her if you want. The whip and handcuffs and everything."

"_Degrading_," said his comrade, pushing him away.

_I really would LOVE to move right now._

Pepper looked down at me, her expression tightening into a nasty frown. Her nose flared, her lips thinned as her jaws locked tight, as if trying to conceal her easily disrupted beauty. Her eyes gave this thoughtful look before they dimmed with nonchalant surrender. Yet, her gestures were still full of contempt.

"Let her go," she said, turning around. She marched to the Edge.

_What I would give to push her._

"WHAT?" chorused the other two.

"We can't let Merc worry about her," explained Pepper.

The one full of riddles. I knew it from the start. All I would get is Project Icarus, from her at least.

Pepper turned to me one last time, that illegible expression on her freckled face again. "Think about it, Celeste. It's my gift to you. You can't live on the Edge forever. As a fellow human being, I would rather not see you die for a dying cause."

"It's not a cause," I grumbled, finally recovered. As I cautiously got to my feet, to which the other two braced for, I was ready to throw some bruises. "It's my _life_."

"Exactly, so why risk throwing it off the Edge?" challenged Pepper.

_Ugh, shut up._

"Because it's _my_ life," I repeated, standing up, fists curled.

"Careful, Pep," began Tony, raising his taser.

"Leave her alone. She won't tell Merc about Project Icarus," insisted Pepper confidently. She waved the concern away. She looked to the blue sky. It was only mid-day; she shaded her eyes with a flat hand, squinting at that infinite blossom of light. "Beautiful, isn't it? Don't you think it's about time to see it in a different light, Cel?"

"Are you going to leave?" I growled.

_And don't call me by my nickname—or my name! _

"Look, Cel," she said, turning to me, folding her arms studiously as if she was trying to be the older mature sibling. "Callaghan's not bad. You just think he is, ever since of the November Riots. Really, life is safer now. You Runners are just biased. For a Runner, you're quite ignorant. Greet the sun, for once."

"The sky is all we get for living here," I growled back. I stood rigid, heart paralyzed, blocking out her warm words. "I live only for those. Not inside those squares you call homes." Then, my eyes widened as I clawed forward to snag the bag back. "Give the bag back, _now_—"

"Just give it to her," ordered Pepper before Tony could fight me back. He gave her an irritated, puzzled glare before throwing it nearly at my face.

"I call leader tomorrow," he cursed in a low, scratchy mutter.

The other female joined Pepper's side, while Tony gave me one last jesting salute before standing on the other side of Pepper. If only I could see their faces, so it could only piss me off more.

"Think about it. The next time we catch you, we take the bag, _and_ your life. But, it's your life," said Pepper.

I hated people who said sharp stuff like that. It actually made me think, but I was too busy glaring to let it actually win me over.

The trio of darkness jumped off the edge, their silhouettes eclipsing the sunlight for a split second before the blue skies took over.


	3. Consideration

Chapter 3:

Consideration

After dropping off the bag at the hotel, I fired back to Merc's AC cooling tower. Home. Before reaching it, however, he managed to reach me again after the interruption.

"CEL, you okay!?" he burst. My comms gave that long whine-like screech you hear when the microphone goes wrong.

"I'm fine, Merc," I said. My heart was thudding so loud, though. I continued to run, my excuse for its clamoring rhythm, fearing Merc could hear.

"Dammit, girl, I thought we lost you! I sent Kreeg to help you, but he couldn't find you after I lost connections to your location," said Merc. He was blowing a whole fuse of curses after every other "are you okay?" which was repetitive of him.

"I'm fine, Merc," I said, my heart pounding only because I found his cursing strangely touching this time. I kept quiet, though, as a tiny smile smacked itself on against my will. My panic was gone, I felt safe again. Those black guys back there wouldn't bother me again, at least for today.

"Did you get the job done?" Merc's voice was calmer, now. I heard typing. He must be researching something.

"Yeah."

"Good. Get your ass to the lair, NOW."

"Yeahhh, Merc."

I think by then my reassuring, calm words cooled Merc. His curses were gone, and his tone reached the level where casual conversation could take place. He hung up with a simple "see ya there", the one that anticipated and hoped for my arrival with a fatherly concern.

When I reached the AC tower, it was a white hump tinged by the glowing horizon. The sunset sunrays fingered through the slits of the AC's outside walls; I could catch movement in there. I recognized them belonging to Faith's mannerisms I knew so well.

Quietly, I climbed up top and fell through the gaping hole at the crown of the igloo-like tower. I heard the last strings of Merc's curses.

"Dammit, that girl! First you, then her!"

Apparently he was condemning Faith for her first mission. However, that tinge of concern and confusion was audible in his barks.

"What's worked them up?" he growled in ponder. "What the _hell_?"

"I _know_, Merc," said Faith's voice.

Merc was Merc. I personally didn't mind it when he threw fits. So, I made my entrance through the circular gape at the top, hanging by the rims, then dropped.

"Cel," chorused both. They turned to me, faces heavy with relief and worry. Faith and Merc glided to me, halting before me, and giving me those typical eyes that tried to show they weren't worried, when they really were. Actually, Merc was the one whose jaw was locked as his eyes betrayed the restrained look he wore.

"What _happened_?" he demanded.

Faith waited silently.

"Don't worry. I pulled the trigger on them," I assured them.

While Merc put a firm grip on my shoulder, Faith analyzed my expression, then turned to him. "I know Cel's calm all the time," she began, eyes gliding between me and Merc. "But Cel . . . you okay? Did something happen?"

I gave her an involuntary hard stare, trying to process through my mind how to rearrange my face into a persuasive expression. I cocked a corner of my mouth into my usual, conceited grin. "What, you wanted me to question them before killing them?"

Merc stared at me, rigid as if shot in the heart. Then, he turned and sat down onto his mobile chair, leaning on a thigh. "No. In that new circumstance, I _would_ have permitted you to kill them rather than take them out one by one for interrogation. Too risky. They were Runners—_no_, not Runners. I dunno what's up, but whoever they are, whatever they wanted, it wasn't just the bag. Who knows. It could be that they have taken this whole Runners versus Callaghan more serious."

I shrugged indifferently. "I'll tell you this. They were irritating."

"I bet," concurred Faith, grinning for my sake.

_That bastard, Tony. I'll remember that name._ Too bad I didn't get his last name, but both of us knew how stupid that would be. I'm sure, however, me asking for it would have excited him.

I opened my mouth to say something, but held myself. I didn't know why, but I didn't want to tell them about "Project Icarus" or even connect "Tony" to any of our problems. Not yet. The fact that they only wanted _me_ to join made this seem like something the others didn't need to know.

Faith caught my mouth since it opened. She gave me an anticipating look. "Yeah?" she prodded.

I looked at her before saying, "Be careful."

She smiled. "Yeah. That won't stop us, though."

"Get some sleep, girls," said Merc, wheeling his chair around to face his wall of computers. "I've got homework to do."

"Sofa," called Faith. She launched herself onto it in a princely manner. Then, she threw me a look when I didn't move from where I stood. "What, you want it?"

I just gave a tilted smile. "Nah, it's yours. But I tag the pizza."

"Nope, my label's on it," said Merc, reaching over to pull the box toward him. "Besides, you didn't get it when I asked you, earlier."

"I got it," I argued with a teasing smile. "I just dropped it. It was either Faith, or the pizza."

"I seriously think he wouldn't hesitate on that one," japed Faith, slyly grinning at Merc, who took the fourth to last pizza.

"Just save at least one slice for me," I said as I walked to the fiery halo formed by our entrance in the hole. Sun was setting.

Merc halted me. "Where you going? Can't go runnin' around on an empty stomach. Especially after being chased like that."

"I'll be careful. I got away, right? They're dead," I said, looking over my shoulders at him.

I _wish_.

Faith looked at me, then exchanged a glance with Merc.

"If I'm not back within fifteen minutes, catch me if you want," I told them, then jumped, hung, and pulled myself with ease out of our AC tower.

It was a toasty night, even though it was cloudless. There were few stars I could barely make out in the inky face above. With this city of lights smiling up the night, it was hard to believe a sun and a sky existed.

I inhaled the night scent. A cool sensation tickled me, nearly like coldness, but it was more out of love and exhilaration. My adrenaline always spiked every time I went Running. My passion, and my only.

I took a step toward the Edge, looked down at the eye lights, then tipped forward, and surrendered to black gravity. That quickness, that pull of falling, that was what I lived and would die for. Even though I was about to die at that second in falling, I betrayed that leaping flutter in my heart as I flipped with ease and landed on the awaiting building below me. Just as I landed, I rolled, dashed, reached for some construction iron poles sticking around, twisted, and flipped around them. After a series of wall runs and swinging, I found myself a nice flow. I kept to it, and just ran.

The Edge was only that hour in that second of falling. I yearned for it again, that feeling of living while you were dying, and jumped off onto another rooftop. Just a night jog through the city.

Something quick caught my eyes.

_Well, will you look at that._ On either side of me, they were running, looking at me. I could barely shape out their black forms soaking into the darkness. However, this was where the city lights at night were useful.

I landed. Then, I turned as they landed, crouched behind me. But not for the strike. They stood up. I felt a staring contest coming ahead. Finally, I scowled.

"How selfish can a Runner get?" one of them finally said.

The other slid off the helmet, revealing another goddess under it. She had long brunette hair, so thin and silky just the way she combed it to return it to its perfect state. A decently narrow, symmetrical face with a perfectly shaped nose, thin eye brows, soft lips that looked small and roundish, like that of a plastic doll you would love to kiss. I had a hard time determining whether she was tan or not; probably wasn't. Gray eyes pierced at me in the light of a company skyscraper's glares next to us.

"And what's your name?" I said, fists clenched, a fraud smile placed firmly and reluctantly on my lips.

"Reagan."

"And her?" I nodded to her partner.

Pepper took off her helmet. She didn't smile like she really did last time, just stared at me with observant eyes the way a scientist would note the progress of her experiment.

"You're probably one of the few whose name is Pepper," I reminded. My eyes locked coolly onto Reagan. "And that's a boy's name."

"Gonna look it up? Go ahead. We already told you we're under Project Icarus," quipped Pepper. "We don't care. You know all you could about us."

This frustrated me. So they didn't care what I did about them. Damn, what did they want from me besides joining them? Why _me_? Why not Faith or Kreeg? If they were willing to share every happy detail of their lives and Project Icarus with me, then what was the point of running or fighting or asking questions?

"What I want to know is why you haven't told your friends, yet," said Pepper, looking at me with her usual, gorgeous, yet observant frown.

I looked at her sharply. "You knew I wouldn't. I want to know _that_."

This time, Reagan spoke. "Think about it. Rather than trying to fight you Runners, why not pull you aside and talk it over? It'd be easier to have a negotiation; have one Runner filter her comrades' info to Project Icarus. You'll get paid better, treated better by high authority and the Blues themselves, and won't have to survive."

Her voice was a low soprano, that between your average teenager's and an adult's. Yet, it sounded dignified, intellect, too "cool" for a person like me.

They wouldn't give up. But why _me_?

Reagan snugged her helmet in her armpit like a basketball player with a basketball, then cocked a hip, looking at me seriously. "Fighting is difficult these days. We admit, we can't catch up with you Runners. In any case, you're not gonna risk your current friends. You're just cutting off their sources and information. We just want to stop the network of Runners. That's all we've ever wanted."

"I'm sorry, do we insult you?" I returned frostily.

Reagan and Pepper looked sideways at each other_._

"The Runners give false hope," said Reagan, giving a disapproving look at me. "We continue to have protests and riots just because of the Runner fans or clients. Those who support the Runners are the reason why this city's restoration is not complete."

"Not our fault. There are people who don't agree with you or candidate Callaghan," I said, shrugging one shoulder.

They looked at me again. It was so annoying, because one, they were so beautiful, too, in the glare of the skyscraper next to us.

Finally, Pepper said, "Meet us tomorrow at the mall on Blake Street. We want to take you shopping. And get a massage."

I stared, mind hazed briefly by what she just said out of nowhere. _"What?"_

"We should get to know each other. You Runners are so resistant, isolated, and violent."

"Tch, you're one to talk. Zapping me," I reminded.

"We wanna show you what Project Icarus is and its benefits," continued Reagan. "Penetrating your network running with information is better than fighting Runners and risk losing valuable people of Project Icarus. It's just easier and safer to use someone who knows the Runners' operations well. In return, you won't be bothered, not even by the Blues. Just whatever missions they give you, you come to us, and hand over the bag. Luxury is a valuable bonus, I'd go on that. Besides, we want a leader."

I stared again. Taking this all in was difficult; they were shadows talking to me in the dim light of the city at night. One could say I was hallucinating all of this and the strange offers.

Pepper explained before I spoke. "You were once them—"

"I still am," I reminded her.

"—So we want you to teach our men and women how to free-run like your street rats. You are one of Merc's top best, right?"

Couldn't blame them for thinking that.

"You think you'll convince me when you regard me, along with my friends, like _that_?"

"Sorry." Pepper cleared her throat, smiling apologetically. "We call ourselves Black Necks. There, you know who we are. By now, I think you have an idea of what Project Icarus is."

"A disturbance," I summarized harshly. I planted a hand on my hip, angered. "Not interested. Agitated. Next time you bother me or interfere with our network of business, I'll kill you."

"I told you from our last meet that _I'd_ kill you," reflected Pepper, as if in thought. "But, here we are, talking under peaceful intentions. How nice I am, giving you opportunities. That's all what Callaghan's about: opportunities. 'Honor the past, celebrate the present, build the future', as the saying goes. How wonderful the human language and intellect can be. So, why don't we stake it. It'll give you one last chance to think it up before I decide to throw you away."

This was annoying. They weren't going anywhere with me. How strangely foolish they were to let me get away with all the information of Project Icarus they just told me, especially on the note that they were letting me go just like that. Once we were done I'd head for Merc and warn him about everything.

Then . . .

_Say yes,_ I thought it out as they stared at me in silent wait_. Next time I meet them, I will say yes. Let them think I've complied, when I really haven't. It's cliché, but that's only because it actually works: become the enemy to know the enemy._

"Hm, I guess," I told them.

To my quick, hopeful response they gave a look that I knew meant I didn't win them over. My fists tightened as silently as they could as I analyzed them warily.

Suddenly, I heard chanting. Distracted, and knowing they wouldn't harm me, I ignored the two "Black Necks", and walked to the Edge. Not far below, I saw a group of protestors.

"What . . .?" I murmured, eyes stretching in gradual shock.

Protests. I haven't seen or heard of any in so long; the city has been so scarily peaceful and safe since the November Riots.

I nearly cringed as Pepper and Reagan contaminated my personal sphere when they joined me on the Edge. They looked down, observant, nearly how those protective heroes used to in old-time movies.

"What's the protest?" I murmured.

It was supposed to be to myself, but Reagan answered: "Nothing to worry about. Just harmless protests."

"So late at night?" I burst, astonished.

"It's only seven."

_Yeah, but at NIGHT?_

I ignored them, continuing to watch.

It was just a random group of protestors on the streets. They sounded only like a droning from where I stood high above, but their chanting became thunderous and demanding. I saw the three police cops pull up, and the Blues stepping out to push them back passively.

I watched in terror, fearing the worst of a protest. Riots weren't good, even if it meant after a long time since the November Downtown Riots.

"Can't do a thing about it, Runner, can ya?"

I turned my head. Pepper was still looking down, almost as if looking down upon the protestors with this stale look in her eyes. "You Runners run from things like these. You only care about your jobs, making a living off people's woes and protests. You don't even listen to the news. We, under thriving for Callaghan's reelection, try to heal this city, especially after the Downtown Riots. We try to maintain peace and order, for the greater good."

"_Just because something's good, doesn't make it right"._ I remember these to be Faith's words from a while back.

"Crime is a horrible thing, Celeste," joined Reagan.

_What, now we're friends, too?_

"We try to keep it low. We hate murderers, rapists, thieves, liars, terrorists, gunners, etc. Why do you think we oppress protestors? They get violent."

"And you don't?" I spurned.

"Only when necessary. The November Riots were horrible, we know. We were probably a few years older than you—maybe teenagers while you were a kid when they happened. We remember November . . ." Reagan's hair fluttered in the wind so serenely, I was kind of aggrovated as I examined her during her "emotional" speech. She seemed just like any other doll under tyranny. "We want to help candidate Callaghan rebuild this city into a safe place. A better place. Violence is necessary."

We returned our attention to the protestors. The night hummed on with their chants that could only be heard by an inch of the whole city. Worthless chants.

"Do you really care about your clients?" murmured Pepper. "We do. We care about the civilians. That's why we oppress them when it's necessary to make sure things don't go out of order. You just live because you live off the money."

"You're not a Runner," I told them, watching some protestors talk back to the Blues. "You don't know the Edge."

"Let us understand it, then," snapped Reagan softly. "We care as much about this city as you do. It's just in a different light, that's all. We coexist with the cops on city duties."

_Shit._

My eyes caught a violent movement. A protestor was pushing a Blue.

_Don't push, you idiot. What do you think triggered the November Riots in the first place?_

I swore under my breath as the Blue's comrades backed him up. They pushed back. Shouts were inserted between them, first quick, witty protests—then louder. I could hear them fine, even with the city life of the nightly traffics buzzing around them.

"Shit. What do they think that's doing? Why are they even protesting?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady and calm.

"It's not protesting . . ." Reagan peered closer.

_Damn, I could push her now, but I need to know some things first._

"I see their signs," she said. "They're ranting on about lobbying candidate Robert Pope's campaign. Something candidate Callaghan didn't do unsatisfied them. They're voting for Pope—they're complaining about Callaghan. And now things are getting pushy."

"Protests have happened everywhere else, too," informed Pepper. "You just never heard about it, because one, you're a Runner. And two, they were passively overrun to the point they weren't worth being mentioned seeing how unsuccessful they were. Project Icarus or the Blues quiet them down fast."

"See what Runners do?" sneered Reagan, eyes sliding toward me in a cautious, penetrating manner. "There is no order, just rebellion; the clash of two sides with different ideas. If we got rid of Runners, or dissuaded them to the point that _they_ gave up, we'd have no problems."

I fired my blue eyes at them. Right now, what she said wasn't important. "Well, what are you doing? You said you're like the Blues—go down there and stop it before it gets out of hand!"

"These are the Blues they're dealing with," said Pepper. "The Blues will handle them, passively."

I returned my determined, stressed gaze upon the protestors. Reagan just mentioned it was getting "pushy": two men, a teenager and an older man, were pushing against the Blues.

Then, a cop pulled out his gun, aiming, but not firing.

"Hey, _do_ something!" I pressured angrily, glaring at the two Black Necks.

They looked at me as if I was stupid. I blinked at them in angry confusion, before snapping again.

"The police will handle them," said Reagan casually.

"The police just aimed a gun at them," I growled.

"He hasn't fired, yet," joined Pepper. "No gunfires, yet. It's only slight force, now."

"I thought you wanted to prevent any progressions toward riots." My volume was peaking. My innards sweltered and rolled, that feeling of helplessness and ire.

Pepper gazed at me once more, those rigid, gorgeous, sapphire gem-eyes piercing through me. "I thought you Runners didn't care."

"I never said we never cared," I retaliated abruptly.

Did she really think we were that ignorant and heartless?

My head flicked crazily from them to the protestors. The crowd was scattering: either fleeing or pressing forward through the Blues. The quickest, but worst way to prove the protestors' point. And the only excuse for the Blues to prove their own.

"What are you WAITING FOR?" I demanded, trying to contain my voice.

Pepper folded her arms, looking at the protestors like a player studying her spawn in a game of chest. "What about _you_?"

"You just proved us wrong that Runners do care about the city they live in," hypothesized Reagan. "Yet, I never understood why they isolated themselves from their clients. Why they never join us on the streets. Why they isolate themselves from the civilians themselves, who could have once been family or friends to them. Is the Edge really all about yourself?"

I stared, dark eyes thinning. My voice was low, quiet, but not deadly. I was simply being honest. "Yes. But a solitude that, in a way, has no affect on anyone else. That's why we do it. Even the Blues sometimes don't bother with us."

"Because they can't _catch_ you," pointed out Pepper, softly. "Thus, Project Icarus: a testimony in which you, Celeste Post, prove your true loyalty to your city. It's your friends, or the city."

I muttered quietly. "I only run because they do."

"Really?" Pepper frowned at me before her eyes fell upon the protest below us, which suddenly melted into oppression. Not violent oppression, but not yet.

No one was going to help them.

I burst from my spot with Pepper and Reagan, aiming downward toward the closest rooftop. I landed with a thud and a grunt of agonizing frustration. I lunged forward, grappling onto thick wires in my Runner's vision, and gliding down. After reaching the end of the wire, I let go, landed, rolled, and sprinted toward the center of the street.

The street lamps were flimsy and half-shattered by the time I reached the site of the chaos. More Blues have arrived for backup. They were trying to resist protestors. Some humans scattered, others advanced, and others fought, but not to the point considered as complete violence. Guns were still aimed, though. I noticed some protestors had already dented and smashed the Blues' cars.

It was a matter of minutes when I took out three Blues who weren't treating civilians the way they should have been.

After taking them down, I realized what I have done.

_Cel, what were you THINKING? Involving yourself like this! On the STREETS_.

The wave of adrenaline that had guided me throughout the nearly violent outcome left my consciousness. I had remained well hidden in the shadows of the street lamps, but I was still nervous over the fear that I have revealed myself.

I could just imagine it: _"Breaking news: blonde in red, sleeveless shirt and dark skinny jeans comes out of nowhere and takes out Blues during a protest-turned-passive-oppression-and-resistance. She came so quick and out of nowhere, she could have been a Runner!"_

When I found safer heights on the safest rooftops I could think of, I was panting and sweating. A tremor ripped through my body, teasing my spine and making me suddenly shudder as if to a draft.

My heart thudded.

At least it was good to know I _had_ a heart. As a Runner, that was a hard decision: risk revealing your identity as Runner to save fellow citizens, or let them die and save yourself. What shocked me the most was that I actually did stop a small riot. Not to just prove I cared . . .

I heard tap-like landings as the Black Necks joined me. They stood from afar, watching me silently, then walked up to me.

"I didn't think you'd do it," said Pepper.

"But, at the same time, we knew," supported Reagan. She slipped her helmet, mask, or whatever, on. "Because nobody's _that_ heartless. We may not understand you Runners and your motivations of living—but we most certainly know one thing: you are _not_ a Runner anymore, Celeste."

I snapped my head up, glaring at her, my eyes saying enough in total rejection.

"You humans reject so much of yourselves," said Reagan, staring at me through her eye holes. "You're now one of us, Celeste. We'll see you tomorrow, just to let you get a taste of the life under Project Icarus. It's beautiful. You'll learn a thing or two, on what living truly is."

Pepper joined her side, staring at me before putting on her choice of concealment. "Good to know you care. See ya tomorrow. Oh, and if you don't show up, we'll kill Merc and Faith and Kreeg and Drake. We honestly don't want to go the violent way, seeing how that will enrage your Runner fans and clients. It's just easier if you give us the information without harming the Runners. Then, they'll realize their line of business won't do in this hardcore city, and will give up. Things will melt back into place, peacefully, without violence. That is our aim."

Before they left, Reagan glanced at me with a steely look. "By the way, I don't like you. When you join Project Icarus, don't expect to be treated like a leader. A leader is made, not born. You'll be treated just like everyone else. A lot of us may hate you, you being a former Runner. You have an annoying, haughty attitude. All that."

_Bitch_. I glared at her, glad we had at least something in common.

"Besides, what's with all the heavy eye-liner?" taunted Reagan icily. I stared, shocked. "You're a Runner. They don't have time for life except running from it. Spending your time up here will keep you from a man; you Runners never provide yourselves for dates. But in Project Icarus, wealthy, attractive men would be attracted to wealthy, attractive women like you . . ."

"Ignore her," interjected Pepper, shaking her head at Reagan. "She means you have beautiful, bright blue eyes. We just can't tell with all that heavy eye-liner . . ."

"What do looks have anything to do with our discussion?" I hissed.

Pepper ignored me. "Look, it's easier if you just gave in, sometimes," said Pepper. "After all, you did mention you give more shit about your friends. So, just give in. No one will die, that way."

They turned, charged toward a wall, ran up it, skimmed some pipes and ziplines, and disappeared.


	4. Vanity

Chapter 4:

Vanity

As I climbed over the Edge onto a rooftop, Faith was standing from above.

"Cel!"

She jumped and landed, then approached me. "Hey, where were you? I've been searching you for ten minutes—"

"I'm fine," I insisted, standing up. I took a deep breath to calm myself, but made sure it looked like I was only inhaling the beautiful night air. I smiled. "Night jog, ya know?"

"Merc told me about some black guys chasing you earlier," snapped Faith, gluing me to her dark eyes. "Imagine if they were around here, at night. They could have wrestled you down. And who knows what to do with you?"

"But nothing happened. Don't worry."

Nothing did happen. Just a protest and a chat with our shadowed enemies.

I ambled past her, tightening my ponytail. Faith followed me in cold silence. It was funny how dark and low her voice sounded, but I sensed a new warmness in her tone. I knew she had a fondness of me as a comrade, but I never thought she'd go this far expressing her concern. That hurt me even more, to be lying to probably the only true person I would ever have.

"Merc was trying to reach you," reported Faith, trying to get me to turn around to face her.

I just kept walking on. Then, I turned to her with an arched eyebrow. "Really? I didn't hear him."

That wasn't a lie.

It was clear, now. The Black Necks weren't just trained to mimic the street Runners, they could also break into our lines of communication. I wonder who was behind the scenes.

Faith's eyes shot at me in dark concern. "Exactly. What'd you expect him to think? That you turned your comms off?"

"I didn't, though," I backfired. This time I was getting badgered by her poking.

Faith slowed in her footsteps, but this time I decided to run ahead. Before she could ask another question, she chased me.

"Why are you running from me? From this?" she called after me.

"I'm a Runner. It's what I do best," I mocked her, smiling—while I wrestled with myself trying to calculate whether smiling too much or too little was giving myself away.

Approaching the rails to some construction boards on the sides of our rooftop, I jumped and grabbed hold of the rails. I followed this motion with a quick handstand, then stayed there upside-down, parting my legs wider while I attempted five handstand push-ups.

Faith balanced herself onto the same rails like the way a monkey or cat would perch itself. She looked at me. "Ya know, your refusal to talk is giving yourself away."

My jaw was tightened from trying to keep count of my handstand push-ups. Faith waited in fuming silence until I balanced like her, upright, and sighed. "Fine."

Tell her the truth, but not all of it.

I stuttered at first, but finally let the words tumble. "I'm seeing someone."

Faith's head jerked to me, short black hair slapping her in the face. "What—really?"

It was uncommon for Runners to build special relationships outside of their world. Faith knew that, Merc knew that, everyone knew that. It was endangering to beloved ones unless they were Runners themselves.

"Just a friend," I reassured her, smiling. "Not a guy or anything. We're going shopping together."

"Trying to be normal?" snickered Faith, but in understanding.

"I guess," I replied thoughtfully, looking down at the city streets, black mouths with moving, lit dots. Kinda like Pac-Man, heh. "Gotta grab what I can."

"Who's the friend?"

"Her name's Pepper. We took a liking to each other at the Fye store."

_I cannot believe I just said that._

"Fye store? Ha, of all places? What, you like video games?"

HaHA, Faith. "I got a new iPod casing yesterday. I've seen her on occasions, and we just clicked, so I guess we're going to go shopping and get a massage."

"I don't think Merc's paying you _that_ much," said Faith with uncertainty, but she simpered.

"Nah. Pepper's loaded, trust me."

Faith gave a short, light laugh while I smiled, mostly to the idea that I just referred to Pepper on friendly terms.

Then, Faith paused. "Why were you afraid to tell me this?"

"Are we friends or something?"

The Eurasian grinned. "Answer me. You're so . . . resistant."

"To make it short, I was afraid of endangering her and you and Merc. No one can know we have outside connections, not even our own Runners. You know that, Faith." I released another exhale, frowning. "Besides, I think Merc would forbid me a normal life."

"You call down _there_ normal?" emphasized Faith in questioning disgust, glaring down upon the city.

She was highly devoted to the solitary life of the Runner. She didn't like a single thing about "normal life". I kinda admired her for being that kind of a rebel. It was even better to know that she still cared about people, like me, but I didn't voice that.

I thought about Pepper and Reagan's question of devotion, of where mine lied to. The city or our business . . . or ourselves . . .

My eyes caught Faith in a thoughtful glance over the city. "Faith . . . why are you a Runner if you don't give shit about the city?"

She looked at me, as if from a different angle. Her dark eyes searched; with that sharp-looking tattoo on her eye, it made her analysis a bit jagged to me.

"I dunno, anymore, to be frank . . ."

The Runner looked at me, hard, again. "And you? You do it because you're good at it, I know that. But do you do it for the business, for Merc, for the other Runners, or for yourself, or for the city?"

"Those categories are somewhat similar," I retorted, nearly in protest. But I took it seriously. "I sometimes thought I was doing it for the city, but I guess it's for myself, now."

"What about that Pepper friend? She worth protecting, even in a city like this?"

"Nah. Just a friend. We're just chick-bonding, I guess."

Faith laughed at my interesting usage of vocabulary. "It's just shopping and massages, right?"

"Right." I chuckled with her. Then, I dismounted the rail. "Well, Merc's probably pissed. Let's go."

"Right, right." Faith paused shortly to inform Merc of our return, whom I could hear clearly in my ear.

Man, he had vocals.

Faith and I ran side-by-side. Even the lights of the city couldn't catch us.

--

"I'm out, Merc." I picked up my earpiece and snugged it into my ear.

Merc was up early, as usual, researching. "Where you going, kiddo?"

"Shopping. Massages."

He paused, snapped off his communication headphones, and wheeled around in his chair. He looked at me. "What? Since when were you the luxury type?"

"I've always wanted to try it out."

"When you sign up for a massage, they're going to ask for your full name and everything."

"What are you, my father?"

"Damn straight, I am. I gave you that money, don't go zipping credit cards and throwing dollars like a spoiled teenager. That's your allowance."

I grinned, nearly chuckling at his failing jokes. "See ya, Merc."

"Hey, what did I say!" he protested. He was serious, but so was I.

"See ya, Merc."

I jumped up through our hole. From there, I greeted the sun, took out my iPod, and selected Lily Allen.

"NO iPODS!" bellowed Merc from the AC tower; he was peeking through the blinds.

I pretended to not hear him and ran off. Besides, this was for his own good. If I didn't show up, he was going to be killed when I came back, along with Faith.

Did I care _that_ much?

Pepper's question was now answered: I'm doing this for my friends. But for myself, too. Not for the city. I knew that would mean not being able to be normal, settle down, meet a guy, and raise a family and blend with the crowd. But I didn't want that, to not to be able to run. I was willing to give that up just to run.

What was it going to be my whole life? Running, Running, Running?

I liked it, though, at the same time. I wish I always had life-long enemies who motivated me to keep Running, because I certainly didn't want to end up like those couch-potatoes, forgetting what the blue sky and rush of wind was like.

Again, the Edge sounds like a selfish choice. But it's better than being in a crowd, because you find yourself more alone in crowds: you against the crowd. When you're alone under the sky, ironically, you are not alone. I chose that, the sun, the blue sky, the rooftops, the rush of adrenaline knowing any moment I could die and not see Faith and Merc again.

_Blake Street, right?_

Pepper mentioned something about coexisting with Blues. That wasn't something to consider—I knew I would never get along with them. So what did she mean? They just wouldn't bother me on the streets, even on the rooftops? Did that mean I could walk into a public mall, my face probably recognizable by countless Blues who have tried to shoot at me before, and not get shot at for once?

Was Project Icarus that amazing?

The idea made my heart lurch and fall endlessly, as if removing itself downward to my stomach. Ugh. Nausea. I felt my heart sliding.

To be honest, I like getting into foils with the Blues. They were the best mocking targets, the greatest challenges second to Running itself. To be able to get away from them, from authority, from the organized patterns of law and life, to know you could die or get arrested, but doing it anyway.

I melted into a cluster of businessmen over a crosswalk. On the other side, I stood at the entrance of the mall, clusters of teenagers on a Saturday morning with their boyfriends and girls and bags and show-off clothes.

Now that I thought about it, Pepper should have told me when to meet her.

_She must have cameras wired on to me_, I predicted, because next thing I knew I heard a shout.

I turned. Pepper and Reagan and one more person approached me, friendly smiles beamed right at me like stage lights.

WHAT?

The man with them instantly grinned: a brunette with short, prickly hair, enough to remind you of the way grass sticks out, but not long enough to consider he had bangs.

From what I last recalled, guys don't normally shop, not like this. I was considering pointing Tony toward the Fye store where Ari was to entertain me—but I forgot how much he had the hots for me.

"Well, well," he sneered, expressing hints of facial hair and a goatee. Those rusty-brown eyes gloated at me with a lecherous gleam in them. "Isn't it the hottie? Great to meet you under friendlier circumstances, deary."

I didn't say anything, giving an appalled gape at Pepper and Reagan. How _dare_ they. How were we going to "bond" with him leering down my ass?

"Tony," snarled Reagan. "Be a gentleman, for once."

"I am," he gloated.

His smooth, wealthy tone could have fooled and swooned any girl. In fact, he was dressed decently for a pervert, but a bit too flashy. He wore a black, tight T-shirt that easily suggested a strong upper body underneath a white button-up shirt. His jeans pants were baggy from low-riding.

_Nice boxers, Tony._

Pepper removed some sunglasses—no wonder I didn't recognize her under them—beaming at me stronger than our previous meets. "Sorry, Tony wanted to see you again. And besides, he won't harm you. He sounds like a jackass, but he's not, really."

"Just following orders, Chickadee," agreed Tony with a casual shrug of a shoulder, hand tucked coolly into his pockets.

_Chickadee? This seriously isn't the normal I was thinking of._

"He uses pet names for girls he's infatuated with," said Reagan, folding her arms. "Can you guess why he chose that pet name for you?"

_Chick-adee._

_Chick._

_I'm SO flattered._

Reagan added, "He doesn't use them, often, though."

I glimpsed at her, nearly glaring. "I thought it'd just be Pepper and me. You hate me, right?"

"Loraine's orders," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "And if you want me to like you, then don't encourage my irritation."

_I wouldn't care._

"Raine acts like your Drake, your contractor," clarified Pepper. "Dispatches us places to guard or take care of civilians or criminals. But she sometimes joins us Running. However, this time, she wanted to watch you from afar."

"I'm touched." I raised my eyebrows briefly, sarcastic.

"Let's go shopping!" boomed Tony, catching me off guard. I looked at him speechlessly, to which he returned with a stupid pout. "Awww, Celeste, wear a more interesting attire than that."

I was pretty comfortable in my familiar red, sleeveless shirt with the V-neck and dark-blue skinny jeans.

"She's a Runner, Tony," reminded Pepper, flicking a small purse at him. "She can dress however she wants. But don't try to wear that too much, Cel. For the Blues who would love to chase you anyway, they'll recognize you. Cameras," she finished by pointing at the outside entrance cameras.

"Try high-heels," suggested Tony with a grin. "They'll define what I'm sure are nice legs."

"I need these sneakers to run from you," I growled.

Pepper snorted, while Tony declared how pathetic I was at sarcasm. Then, the auburn-haired girl gestured us inside.

"Let's shop first, then relax afterwards," suggested Pepper.

Obviously, no one would ever identify her as a Runner or a Callaghan spawn under Project Icarus. Pepper was dressed in a black leather coat over a cerulean shirt I couldn't see. Blue jeans concealed black, leathered high-heel boots. Ok, not really normal—she could have been an FBI agent investigating the premises.

Reagan followed right after her, dressed in a casual black tank-top clad by a dark-green sports jacket. She wore jeans as well, with a black belt I wish I had and her own brown practical clogs.

Tony slowed down when I followed. I looked away from him, trying to focus on following Pepper and Reagan.

"Hey, Cel, we started off rough," he began, but I paced ahead of him quickly. He jogged to catch up, then walked backwards in front of me, arms beckoning to the ceiling as if begging. "Hey, hey. I'm a joker—they call me that, sometimes. Joker. But you can call me Tony."

"You're a sick, infected man with the worst nickname ever," I told him succinctly, trying to walk by him.

Ahead of us, Pepper continued to walk but shouted over her shoulders, "Tony. We want to get shopping."

Tony shot back, "What could you women possibly _need_? You already have frikkin mansions, like, on the 77th floor of one those skyscrapers up there! C'mon, we have all the time in the world!"

I heard Reagan fight with Pepper as they walked side-by-side. "This was supposed to be just us and Celeste. Why'd he come along?"

"Can't I be included for once? You treat this like high school," roared Tony in frustration.

I smelled morning vodka from Tony.

I jogged by him. I didn't necessarily join the other two Black Necks, but I trailed them like a child. Tony ignored me, for once, and slipped away into some cell phone store.

About time.

Noticing Tony's absence, Reagan exclaimed, "He's gone. Let's ditch him."

For once, I agreed: "What's there to shop for?"

"You seem to have an interest in music, Cel," outlined Pepper, stopping at some benches. She looked at me. "It suits your personality: the lone Runner who detests the city, Blues, and people besides Merc and Faith. And is foolish enough to listen to her iPod while Running."

"Why not?" I challenged, grinning.

"I'm not disapproving, I like your style," said Pepper defensively. "So how about we get you something? Like, I dunno, an iPod stereo, iTrip—"

"Runners don't own cars, Pepper," interjected Reagan curtly.

"—Oh, right. How 'bout a massage chair? A new nano iPod—an i_Touch_—?"

I cut her off. "Runners _do_ have cars. And Runners don't have a need for anything but shoes—but the iTouch sounds nice. I'm just concerned with the size it'll present to my pockets."

"I'm sure we can arrange that," said Pepper casually. "Anything else?"

"I dunno, indulge me."

Reagan was studying me with such icy eyes. _Don't look at me._ I was going to gratefully accept any opportunities of luxury I would receive. It wouldn't last long, considering I was going to bring down Project Icarus, soon.

"I need better headphones for my new iTouch, too," I told her.

"She demands all of these right away with such a casual face," noted Reagan, annoyed. "Selfish, I knew it."

I ignored her. So did Pepper as she wrote a list on those advanced organizers that looked like a cross between calculators, Nintendos, and cell phones. As I watched her type in my list of vanities, a question popped up.

"I don't see how this bonds us," I said.

"What matters is _you_," declared Pepper, stuffing the organizer into her leather jacket's breastpocket. "You're like a little project to us. We're wondering if you're like the other Runners. If so, with your similar interests, maybe we can appeal to other Runners if all deems necessary."

"Bribery, how typical."

"Well, in my terms, I think bribery requires some self-resistance from the person being bribed. But, in your case, you're openly willing to accept the deal. You're not under bribery," concluded Pepper.

None of that really made sense, but whatever.

I drew a conclusion. "So it's not just me you want to appeal to. I'm only the hook."

"Yeah, we gotta bigger fish to fry. So, we'll try to appeal to you. Let's go shopping, then we'll take you to some upper level private spas for a massage."

She was sure open about her evil scheme.

I followed them as they led me into stores any busy-bodied woman would go into: Linen's and Things, Baths and Beyond, Old Navy, Victoria's Secret, etc. Could you believe these chains would still exist in this future?

Pepper wanted us to take a look at what could possibly be my new home. We took a look at all sorts of furniture, including TVs, computers, and tableware. Did I want a balcony with a Jacuzzi and outdoor shower, a porch, a patio—nature, techno, futuristic, ancient, or modern-day themed? All the vanities of current civilization—the prisons to a Runner.

"Oh, and for future reference," said Pepper, "you will be referred to as Vanity."

I paused, looking at her, absorbing the new title. "What? First Chickadee, now Vanity?"

"I find it catchy," admitted Reagan, as if jealous. She pouted, resting a hand on her hip.

"We have codenames, too," explained Pepper. She pointed to herself. "I'm Bullet, Reagan is Kick, Loraine is simply her common nickname, Raine, and Tony's—"

"Pervert?" I finished hopefully with anticipation.

"—Greed."

"Close enough."

Fascinating names; I could somewhat see how they matched their suitors.

"It's simple. Just like how we can hack into your system of communication, so could other unfriendly people. That is why we have codenames. But that's only possible when we have our comms, which we don't have now considering we're only shopping. It's a harmless sight, right?"

"Just shopping and bonding. Totally harmless," prompted Reagan sarcastically. She sighed, as if exhausted by her vain efforts to befriend me.

Pepper turned to her. "I'm not dropping Celeste, Ray. You're gonna have to get along sooner or later. She's our best chance of Project Icarus' success."

Reagan didn't say anything. Good.

Tony bear-hugged me from behind, squeezing his thick arms against my innards and lifting me into the air. I seriously didn't want to feel his massive chest or any other body part grazing me from behind—I was close to showing off some moves, but reminded myself that we were in public.

"Let go of her, now, Tony," commanded Pepper.

"Let me speak for myself—" I gasped, about to snap off his arms.

"Don't, Cel," admonished Pepper in a low voice. She flashed those burning blue eyes at the thug. "TONY."

He was their pet, or something. A perverted _dog_.

He released me, grinning crookedly with a large shrug. I landed easily onto my feet, glaring.

Rearranging my red shirt, which he involuntarily shifted out of line, I continued to laser him with furious eyes. "You're _really_ pissing me off."

"Save it later, not here," said Reagan.

Without further conversation, Pepper and Reagan walked out of the store. I followed intently. Tony was on my tail, grinning to himself.

"Massage, right?" he asked after we left.

I turned to him. "No. Not for you."

"Selfish there, Cel," he moped.

"You're not serious, right?" I growled, making a look at Pepper the way a teenage daughter probably would to her parents.

"He seems like a pervert, but he won't act it out, trust me," vowed Pepper.

_This is_ stupid.


	5. The Massage

Chapter 5:

The Massage

The place was called the Spa&Soul Resort. Our room was pretty small for such a luxurious place. When I entered with the Black Necks—yes, Tony came along, too—a small desk was on my left. On the walls were peaceful decorations, just to set the mood. Probably the first thing I truly identified in the bedroom-size room was the big painting. Looking ahead, it depicted an angel in oil paint, hovering over a cliff or sea, I think.

Aspects of religion were seldom seen or expressed in this city. The city's connection with nature and religion was low, but in this room, I already felt drowsy, succumbing to the natural atmosphere.

"Hello." Two male massagers addressed us with polite smiles. We all shook hands with them.

"We'll let you undress momentarily, then leave the room," said one of them. "When you're ready, crack the door open a bit."

"Thank you." Pepper bobbed her head, flashing an attractive smile any guy would have fallen for.

A piano-strung tune was playing from somewhere, probably from behind-the-walls stereos. Tucked in the far right corner was a table with a heating pan full of symmetrically smooth heating stones, and a bottle full of those massaging liquid. Hugging the other corner was a stone fountain. Diminutive statues of fairies or angels were stacked on different levels or shelves of the stone fountain. I could hear the tickling water as it placated my mind. I didn't feel like Running anymore; I just wanted to sleep.

The room could only hold three cushioned tables for customers.

"I guess one of us has to wait," growled Tony.

I looked at Pepper. "Kick him out."

"He has to, anyway," said Pepper, conveying a secret message to him with a look of her eyes. He left with a pissed expresssion. "The masseurs told us to change privately—"

"Haven't you ever received a massage before?" burst Reagan, removing her sports jacket. Her accusation sounded so sharp and direct.

"No," I answered.

"It's not essential in life, but it most certainly feels great," said Pepper.

After she removed her leather jacket as well, she turned and pulled at the bottom of her shirt. I turned around abruptly, but silently. I heard the shuffling of clothing being removed as I stared at some chart expressing the diagram of the human foot.

There was silence.

"Aren't you going to change?" pressed Pepper's voice from behind.

There was a pause in my tone before I answered, "Yeah . . ."

"Dear _god_, she IS a virgin!" exclaimed Reagan. "We're all girls, _chill_."

"Cel," convinced Pepper, "we're already under the covers. You can turn around, now."

I turned slowly, knowing she wasn't a liar. They were tunneled deep under the large towels on the bed-like platforms. Laid across their stomachs, they stared at me, entertained or astonished.

"I wonder if she's seriously a virgin-virgin," gasped Reagan. "Damn, Pep, we should get her a life. She needs a man, maybe some condoms—"

"She's a Runner, what do you think they've been doing with their lives," snapped Pepper in my defense. She did have a smug look I didn't like, so I looked away. "Get changing, Cel. The guys are waiting."

Reagan gave a mocking smirk. I wanted to punch her so bad.

"I thought they provided bathrobes," I blurted, folding my arms.

"Maybe she _does_ have some knowledge, for a virgin," teased Reagan, kicking her legs behind her playfully, as she lay there eyeing me.

Pepper went along with her. "First massage, for real, Cel?"

"Just undress, dammit," erupted Reagan.

I sighed, and complied.

After shrugging off my red shirt, kicked off my jeans, and removed my lingerie, I quickly snatched the towel on my bed to coil around myself.

"How cute," said Reagan bitterly. "Go crack the door."

I went to the door to crack it, then hurriedly returned to my bed. I did as Pepper and Reagan did, using my towel as a blanket, and stretched out on my stomach. I sat up, arms folded in front of me for support.

My eyes caught Pepper and Reagan looking at me in amusement or bewilderment. Then, all us were distracted as our masseurs walked in. However, one of them bore a frown, apologizing that one of their co-workers were running late for our massage.

Pepper returned their apologies with a nod of her head. "That's fine. Cel can wait."

To her words, I looked at her, but decided I didn't mind.

"I want my massage now, Pepper," objected Reagan, lowering her head into her arms already as her masseur got to work.

"Are you ticklish, or have any specific place you want me to dig in?" he asked her.

"Do what you want," said Reagan, her voice muffled in her arms.

Both of their masseurs already started at the soles of their feet. Reagan was giving moans of satisfaction while Pepper remained quiet; she was smiling, though, seeing that her face was facing me.

"Don't worry, you'll get yours," she assured me after seeing that I was looking at them without a word.

I ignored her. The setting of the room dragged me deeper into its state of contemplation and relaxation. So, I cushioned my head into my arms, allowing the soft silence and the trickle of water to take me away.

"Don't fall asleep, there, Cel," interrupted Pepper in a soft whisper, "you'll want to enjoy it."

I did want to enjoy it, so I lifted my head from my arms, taking in the consoling decorations of the room. I identified the polished, wooden figurine of Buddha in his happy lotus position on a shelf. I traced the details, lumps, and outlines of the figurine with lazy, impatient eyes.

The door opened. I whipped my head around to see if it was my masseur. Tony's head poked in, smiling broadly; he waved. An infectious sight.

The moment Pepper and Reagan saw him, they groaned, antagonized: "Ahhh, Tony! Get outta here."

They were casual about it at the same time, though. As if he'd walked in on them millions of time. Why they bothered tagging him along was beyond me.

When he saw me, I glared, turning away, pulling my covers higher over my chest.

"Get OUT," barked Pepper, waving at him as if swatting away a fly.

"Nice bosom, there, Pep," he complimented with a cluck of his tongue, doing his usual salute.

Seeing that her boobs were nearly falling out, Pep returned her swatting arm back to its place. With both arms, her chest was covered. Reagan, silently steaming, dropped her forehead against her bed in total despair.

A woman joined Tony from behind. Must be from the front desk or something. "I'm _so_ sorry, ladies, he told me his appointment was next—"

"You're late," interrupted her co-worker, Pep's masseur. He glared. "Da boss is not gonna be la-la with you."

"I didn't know it was my shift," returned the woman apologetically, red with humiliation.

"Just get to Ms. Celeste. You've had her waiting."

"And get that dirtbag outta here!" added Reagan. "Seriously, Tony, you're not funny!"

"I just wanted to see how ma favorite girls were doing," defended Tony, wincing at Reagan's jagged words. "I'm not your dog, I'm your partner."

He said it so low, soft, and puppy-like I nearly felt bad for him. He appeared so harmless.

"Your use of the word 'partner' is not convincing, either," snarled Reagan, isolating her face back into her arms, completely tuning him out.

Forgetting Reagan, Tony leered at me. "Heyyy, Cel—"

"Sir, please, it's time for you to go." The woman, who apparently was my masseus, gently pushed Tony back out the door. When the door clicked shut, she turned to me with an apologetic frown. "I am _so_ sorry, miss. I'll get to you right away."

I nodded shortly. "It's fine."

Coming to me, she asked the same questions Pepper and Reagan's masseurs asked: "Any specific spots of tension or pain I can relax for you? Or any ticklish spots?"

I paused in thought before answering, ". . . Actually, my legs could use something. Otherwise, do what you do."

"Ok, sure." She nodded and smiled.

As she did, I couldn't help but try to figure out what ethnicity she was: I couldn't tell if she was tan or if it was her natural golden-brown color. I lost myself in her eyes, too: a reflective, pale, yet addicting shade of crystal-blue. Wavy, waist-length hair the color of chocolate fudge was in those half-ponytails while the rest of the hair was down. A cute, simple style, along with her tight, thin-layered, purple, V-necked shirt with sleeves ending to her elbows. Like my shirt, it bared her belly-button and a tight stomach I could detail out. She wore tight, black jeans leading to white shoes.

She collected her items for my massage, then set them down onto the table next to her, like her co-workers have been doing, and moisturized her hands with salve.

She caught my eyes on her. My heart fluttered violently for a split second when I saw how bright and addictive her eyes were _especially_ when they looked up at me.

As quick as we held each other's gaze, she dropped it, returning to her business. I looked away, trying to busy myself by seeing how Pepper and Reagan were doing. They were quiet, nearly dazed in their arms. But when I looked back at my masseus, it was her turn to pull her eyes off me.

"Ok, miss," she began, clearing her throat quickly. "I'll start at the soles of your feet. When I get to your legs, you tell me where the tension is, okay . . .?"

I nodded. My beady-blue eyes pasted to the steepness of her defined cheeks. She bore a cute, skinny nose. Wide, thin lips made her look like she was still smiling even though she was in a thoughtful frown, avoiding my gaze.

She finally gathered her courage to look up, staring right into my eyes. "So, uh, just lower your head and relax, kay?"

I gave a thin smile before obeying. Once my head disappeared in my arms, I listened keenly to her footsteps walking around to my feet. I heard her rubbing her hands again as she applied more of the massage salve. Finally, her hands and thumbs started pressing and smoothing out the soles of my feet. She hit the nerve that controlled my mind, that I immediately felt myself go numb into relaxation.

She probably also hit the spot where, according to massage reflexology, it controlled my heart, because my heart was thudding. It was like little hands knocking against my heart and chest, annoying me, but in a strangely good way.

_Awe, god . . . that feels so good . . ._

Since she applied that slippery, oily substance I felt the pressure even more pleasing. I nearly moaned, but held it in. To busy myself from dozing off in contentment and from her, I checked the Black Neck's spiritual status.

Reagan looked like she was nearly gone. But Pepper had been watching me.

Duh.

"Feels great, huh?" she murmured, eyes right at me. How annoying.

In spite of my loathing toward her, I smiled. "Yeahhh . . ."

Pepper smiled, closed her eyes, and buried her face into her arms.

I felt a sudden draft as my massager tore off the part of my towel shielding my bare legs. A nerve-racking sensation hacked through me like a tremor, but I remained calm. She had exposed my leg nearly up to my ass. I felt her slippery fingers pinch, stroke, press, and rotate up my leg.

_Damn, that feels good, too . . ._

"Did I hit a spot?" she whispered.

I slipped a smile. "Mhhmm, yeah . . ."

_Holy . . _.

"Shoot," I heard one of her co-workers exhale in self irritation. "Hey, Nahlah, can you hand me your salve? I ran out. Sorry, Ms. Reagan."

"That's fine," murmured Reagan, half-lost in her relaxation.

_Nahlah_.

Sounded foreign, but divine. Short, simple, easy to pronounce, yet still giving an intricate sound on the roof of my tongue as I clucked my tongue to pronounce it silently to myself.

"Sure," replied Nahlah. I heard her lift her container of salve and hand it over.

Then, her hands returned to my feet.

The moment came when her hands rubbed higher up my leg. My heart iced, before it melted into total satisfaction. However, my face itself was overwhelmed with a flush of sheepishness.

_She's a masseus, of course she'll do that,_ I snapped at myself.

About seven minutes later, after repeating the leg process on my other leg, she switched to my back—my favorite part of the body.

"Hm," she pondered carefully, knuckles kneading into my back. "Your back . . ."

It was a good thing she was there, because my back muscles were tense to the point that it ached just holding them there in total response to her touch. The feeling of exposure was strangely arousing. I don't think I have ever let anyone touch me like that before. Skin contact, especially bare skin, was rare for Runners; kneeing Blues in the crotch or cracking their heads backwards was a different story.

Her fingers and thumbs climbed, pinched, and swam up the spine of my back, to the nape of my neck, and stretched out near my shoulders. I wished I could stay here forever. I wondered if that was even possible considering how rich Pepper and Reagan apparently were.

"Try to relax," whispered Nahlah. It made my heart go frenzy, as if ripping itself into separate shards, which filtered my system with multiple adrenaline shots.

But I don't think it was adrenaline.

"She's a virgin," claimed Reagan.

Both Pepper and Reagan's masseurs chuckled jokingly.

_Fuck, I thought she was unconscious._

I was ready to _make_ her unconscious, but Nahlah already replied in an irresistible, light, and quiet, yet shy giggle. "Oh . . .?" She sounded surprised or something. _Damn you, Callaghan spawn._

"She has never received a massage before," added Pepper.

"I thought you guys were knocked out," I growled, feeling the heat tingling over my face.

"Massages are the one things you don't wanna sleep out on," said Pepper, as if this was a rule.

I didn't say comment, afraid anything I said would be backfired on me.

I didn't hear anything from Nahlah, nor from the other two. It was quiet.

Then, Tony opened the door. "I can arrange that," he announced.

"TONY!" roared Reagan. "Kick him out!"

As her masseur abided, advancing toward Tony, Tony gave a lingering glance at me, then Nahlah.

"Damn, _she's_ lucky!" he whined, his eyes gleaming with this look I didn't bother to try reading.

_I'm going to kill him. We are not friends, not even "partners". No Project Icarus for me._ I was done with him.

The masseur pushed Tony back, telling him, "Wait your turn, sir," then shut the door again.

"Don't your doors have locks? C'mon, we're in 2012!" growled Reagan, surrendering into her arms already.

Pepper laughed half-heartily. She turned to me. "Yeah, he loves you. You don't see him like that much."

"What, he depressed or something?" I jabbed. "Can't get a girl?"

"He loves girls, and they love him," explained Pepper, nearly with fondness. "But, ya know, he has his specifics."

"I feel like Lady Luck."

Pepper smiled again, warmly this time. "C'mon, Cel, admit this is better."

She was referring to life as part of Project Icarus. Of course we couldn't even let these citizens know what we were talking about.

I rolled my eyes. "Tony's not making it worth it, to be honest."

"No, seriously, besides him. Gotta appreciate the luxury, right?"

I didn't want to talk to Pepper, which she understood. She returned to her quiet state.

Next, I absorbed the soft caress of Nahlah's hands as they flowed further down my back. The steep valley of my back nearly arched with pleasure, but I restrained it. I felt her thumbs suddenly mow all the way near the muscles of my buttocks. They stopped there, pressed, then retreated back up my spine, starting over again. Then they snuck and pressed closer into their descent; my heart was shivering and pounding again. How annoying.

The massage lasted for an hour and a half. Strangely, that lingering feeling of that hour and half was somewhat better than that hour I found in my leaps of self-destruction. I wanted to live in that hour and a half, the true definition of eternity.

Being a Runner, I have never known the meaning of standing still, not until now. Now, it was all I wanted to do.

When my hour and a half of my eternity was up, Nahlah and the other two masseurs left quietly. By then, I was half asleep, so drowsy from the relaxation, I couldn't move. My body was light, free of the burdens of Running, irritations of the world, danger, and tyranny. I couldn't feel my muscles, my mind was clear, and my heart was flushed with total content. It dawned on me instantly that this feeling of weightless flight was better than that pull of gravity I knew all my life.

After we changed back, Nahlah and her co-workers returned. Reagan paid them, while Pepper and I conversed talk about my first-time experience. All the while I caught Nahlah looking at me, but before I could decipher whether I was delirious, she was smiling openly to Reagan or her co-workers.

"Well, if you liked that, deeply consider what we've offered," said Pepper. "Also, if you ever need help, we'll come."

"What does that mean?" My eyes lit with curiosity, but twinkled with suspicion.

"_'Love thy enemies'_, said God. Think about it, Celeste."

I didn't get it, still, after all of that. Though she reviewed what Project Icarus was when we went shopping, it still wasn't enough. I would honestly preferred to have her explain during our massage, as well, but that wasn't necessary, especially with Nahlah's entrance.

Nahlah opened the door for us while we filed by her. Tony was sitting outside, snoring in his chair with the wings of a customer's magazine covering his face.

Reagan nudged him. "I think he's dead. Hey, Tony. Your turn."

"I thought we were leaving," I asked, as I was the last to exit the room. I could literally feel Nahlah's eyes on me, who was keeping the door open from behind us. My heart was twittering again, but I focused on Pepper.

"You're forgetting Tony had an appointment, too," said Pepper. "They just didn't have enough room for four customers. Now, Ray and I are gonna get going. Why don't you accompany Tony during his massage?"

"NO," I burst in a low, steel tone, slapping the magazine off Tony's face as he woke up. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Sooner or later you're gonna have to get along. He's gonna your partner, a lot. Oh, and as for further meetings, we'll see you tomorrow at 7:00 in the morning. For a morning jog."

"For _what_?"

"Don't give me that, c'mon, you know you can handle it." To disguise our conversation about Running, not _running_, Pepper added teasingly, "Look, you may throw up, you may turn blue and pass out, but you _won't_ die."

"What _for_, though?"

"You _know_."

"I said I would _consider_, though."

"But we know your answer. We'll see you tomorrow," she terminated with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We might give you your first, too. Good-bye, Celeste."

They walked out the thick, heavy, glass door that smoothly opened and swung back and forth through its frame silently.

Damn, I realized they left me with Tony and Nahlah.

Behind me, Tony was still slouched in his chair. He was grinning at me. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to ignore the fact that even though Nahlah was back inside her room rearranging her items, she was still glimpsing at me every now and then.

"Awe, shit, man," purred Tony, exhaling in disappointment. "I missed it. I missed it all, all the action."

I shot him another nasty glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave a crooked smile. "Ya know . . . girl-on-girl . . .?"

I turned to make sure Nahlah wasn't looking. She had disappeared from sight, probably busying herself behind the wall that obscured both of us from each other's view. I balanced on one leg as I delivered Tony a straight blow across the face with my foot. When I promised him another round, he blocked my kick with his rough hands, and gently pushed me away using the sole of my foot.

"Hey, hey, _watch_ it!" he hissed lowly. "Just because we support Callaghan doesn't mean we can let citizens know—"

"Don't start with me," I snapped back, returning both feet on the floor.

"Excuse me?"

We turned. Nahlah was standing there, a shy look on her face as if she interrupted a touchy moment. "Um, sir, we're ready for you."

Tony practically jumped onto his feet, bobbing on them as if ready to run, and gave his collars a quick flick of his stroking hands. "About time, honey. So, where shall we start—?"

I was about to nail him from behind, but Nahlah said timidly, "No, you have Seth. My next client should be arriving shortly, but you may come in, now . . ." She gestured back into the room. I felt a surge of relief lift my heart, but it was followed by more thunderous beats.

He walked past her, smiling at her seductively. She returned one reluctantly, then closed the door. There, she slowly let go of the knob before turning around and walking past me, eyes averted, pointed only ahead. I moved aside to let her by, practically pressed against the wall as if hoping to sink into it for concealment.

She nearly walked past me fully, until she hesitated in her tracks and turned around, mouth tight, eyes staring tentatively at me.

She budged a smile. Trying to be polite and pulled together, I returned it with a crooked, thin smile that was barely a smile. It felt more like a twitch.

"Um, I'm sorry, did you want to join him?" she apologized.

That's all she did, apology.

"Not at _all_."

_Shit, did I just snap?_

She stalled. "Oh, well, it was nice to meeting you, Ms. Celeste."

"Thanks."

She gave me one last thin, budged smile before I unlocked our stare and walked out.

Author's Comments: So..? Too much detail in the first previous chapters? Should I have skipped all that Mirror's Edge introduction crap to the point where Celeste takes the bag from Faith on Faith's first mission? Suggestions? Criticism?


	6. Two Sides

Chapter 6:

Two Sides

"Vanity."

I was running when I heard Pepper's voice. The split-second malfunction screeched into my ear, I nearly tore it out.

"What the _hell_?" I bellowed, leaning over instantly as if someone gutted me with a sword. "PEP—?"

"'BULLET'," she corrected in an angry hiss.

"Whatever—ACHK, how'd you—?"

"Sorry. We put a chip into your comms just before you changed back into your clothes," she explained. I heard her trying to adjust her earpiece. "Anyway, Greed complained that you left him. Why'd you leave him?"

"You sound surprised," I responded, grinning triumphantly to myself. I picked up my pace again, jumping off my current rooftop to the next.

"We're a _team_, now, Vanity—"

"Give me a different alias, that one is so girly and dark. I said I'd _consider—_"

"I don't give a damn. You're on board. And stop being sexist, Greed is your partner—"

"Is Ton—_Greed_—seriously why you screamed into my ear?"

"No," she said, sighing, as if fed up with me. "We've been trying to reach you because there's been a change of plans."

I did a series of switching from staircase to staircase between two different buildings, back and forth until I ascended higher. However, her words caught my attention. I felt my adrenaline spike again, suspense getting the better of me.

"What is it? _Plans_?" I barked, impatient.

"I wouldn't threaten high authority, Vanity," snapped Pepper, as if I had rudely spoken back at my mother. "Your boss, at least, of us Black Necks, has a commission for you."

"What? I haven't joined. You said you'd give me my first _tomorrow_! I'm tired. Luxury and doing nothing is more exhausting than I ever imagined," I complained.

"This is an emergency. It's regarding the reelection for mayor."

I paused, taking in her words, words that had to do with the very reason why Runners rivaled with Blues. "The campaign? What's going on?"

"Vanity, this is Raine."

_Raine?_ My eyebrows knitted in concentration to recall the name. However, her low dictator's voice triggered Pepper's conversation with me instantly. She was my employer, apparently.

"Vanity, are you there?"

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"Don't give me that, I'm the reason why you're eating and living the life of a celebrity," she snarled.

I already hated her.

"I'm not complying to any of your orders," I muttered, panting as I kept running toward Merc. I had enough hearing voices from Black Necks.

"Yes, you will. You will obey every command. It's Robert Pope's life, or _yours_."

I fell silent, the chill ripping through my heart and spine. It dreaded my mind like a foggy cloud; for a moment, I thought I couldn't see anything—so I halted to a stop.

The sanction for my death, if I did not oblige, scared me for a second, I have to admit. But once I collected my very reasons for becoming a Runner, I reminded myself that it was for my friends.

"Catch me if you can, then."

"Don't be foolish. Just simply do it and you won't die."

"You're asking me to murder the guy whose existence is why Runners jobs. His supporters are our clients, and that gives us a living. It's chaining us together—you think killing me will help your goals?"

"No, but what if we killed Merc and Faith?"

"I don't understand you Black Necks," I growled, flicking my eyes everywhere to make sure no Black Necks or even my own Runners were nearby. "You already knew the location of all Runners, including me, our profiles, everything. You could have killed us long ago before confronting me—you could have killed me. Now, you're threatening me and their lives? Why _now_, of all times?"

"Bullet already told you," said Raine calmly, yet coolly. "We don't like conflicts. You Runners just make it complicated."

"I don't have time for this. Merc will get pissed. If he and the others get suspicious of my strange departures, we'll are in all trouble. I've brought my communicator, and I bet he's been trying to reach me, but your technologies have been hacking it, haven't you? Let me go, we'll talk about Robert Pope later."

"By the time you return to that AC tower, you'll find your friends dead," threatened Raine.

This Loraine really pissed me off. I heard a pipe bomb in my mind as I tried to hold myself from cursing at her.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, if you don't assassinate Pope, we'll either sacrifice you, or your friends."

Her offer was nothing to me, it was just pure hassle. As her words sunk like cold daggers, I thought my options, and found myself reply instantly.

"I think they're willing to die, too," I said in a low voice. I was scared of myself. "Go ahead."

Loraine sighed, irritated. I couldn't wait to see her face so I could identify which face to graze along the burning rooftops of the city.

"Why use a Runner to do your dirty work?" I pressed.

". . . They're better the best assassins. They can sneak in and escape so fast."

"If the to-be-murderer of Pope is discovered to be a Runner, that'll turn all tides against Runners."

"Exactly." Her voice suddenly softened. "We told you. We're trying to achieve a safe, utopian world. You think we're willing to take your friends' lives like that in the first place? That's inhumane—"

"You _just_ threatened to take my life or theirs if I didn't take Pope's."

"We just wanted to discourage your business in a nonviolent manner. Once your clients realize you're not accomplishing your mission, they'll give up on you, and then you'll give up on yourselves. Tension will drop, Callaghan will win, and the utopian world of this city will finally approach."

I waited to make sure she was done. Then, I declared, "Bullshit."

"Bullet, how do you handle this girl? I thought you were sure about her."

Wow, she was a complainer already. Some leader.

Pepper was audible to both of us: "Keep pressing her. Give her options."

"Why kill Pope _now_, of all times?" I cut in, restive.

"Because he's getting stupid lobbying," answered Loraine. About time she decided to get to the point. "We're supporters of Callaghan, hired by his word. We need to stop Pope. Stopping your line of business or killing him will stop the needless riots and protests to come."

"I have no interest," I concluded, then fidgeted with my communicator to remove it. "I'm sick of your voice—"

"We'll still be able to track your every move, Vanity," Loraine told me darkly. "You can't run nor hide."

"Funny, cuz that's exactly what I do," I replied.

I was sick of pretending I was going to even consider the offer. I had nothing else—even Running was something to question itself . . .

"I'm going to Drake and gonna tell him everything about Project Icarus," I admonished them.

"STOP, please, wait."

Now she begs. I was already Running, however, aiming for Merc's so he could connect me to Drake; his lair was closest.

Suddenly, Loraine's voice dropped to such a calm voice, it was like a begging, caring mother's tone. "How could you throw your life away like that? Don't you want to _live_?"

"I already _am_," I reminded her. "Why do you think I'm a Runner? Life itself is even more exciting when you guys try to catch me."

"So what happens when you're actually _caught_?"

I paused; my eyebrows sloped cautiously. "Is that a threat?"

"Just a question."

"Sounds rhetorical."

"Then, why don't you move faster?"

For all I knew, Loraine probably had two Black Necks watching me the entire time we were talking. Next thing I knew, I caught the flash of darkness at the corners of my eyes. Black Necks were closing in on me quickly, especially since Loraine's "suggestion" was delayed. From there, I practically leaned forward just hoping to get an extra kick of speed; my arms grew heavy against my sides as I tried to get them to pump faster.

"Cheater," I panted, doing a manipulative slide through a hole in an electrical fence.

My pursuers chose alternate routes, catapulting off random boxes, wall-running, and leaping over other larger objects. They maintained a decent pursuit.

"I'm offering you to never have to be afraid anymore," said Loraine, as if empathically.

"Who ever said I was afraid of anything?" I backfired.

"You're not afraid of dying?"

"I'm a Runner: I jump over things. Running through things is no different—go ahead, send your Blues against me."

"_Live_, then."

"Why me?" I asked calmly, curious.

"We know your pride for your skills. We need you. Please, Vanity. Seriously, what do you care about Pope?"

"What do _you_ care about Callaghan?" I retorted.

"They're gaining on you, Vanity. I'd make your choice quick. All you gotta do is kill Pope. No one would suspect it was you, or would even consider an assassination, not in this tight city. No one will expect a Runner, being the ones who have always supported him since they commission for his supporters."

"Where is he now?"

Those words shot out themselves; I didn't even feel my mouth open to say them. It was too late, though. I was watching a movie through first-person view as I just agreed to the Black Necks' damn offer.

There was a pause, then I realized it was because Loraine was relieved, yet shocked. "Wow, finally giving up?"

"No, agreeing. There's a difference."

"Shall I slow them down?"

"That would be great, they're getting annoying."

"Ok. We'll send a copter for you. Get on it, a guy will give you a suit, and then we'll drop you off at a safe distance from Pope. He's right now in the skyscraper four blocks from you. You're looking at it, I think. Find the twenty-second level. The room he's mostly likely to be in will be his office, near the Robert Pope and Associations room. As for your pursuers, they're gone."

"Where's the chopper?"

Loraine sighed in thought. "Hm, they'll arrive in five minutes. Why don't you hide in the shadows or something while you wait? We don't want your friends seeing you hanging around."

I shot a glance over my shoulders, the Black Necks gone. Then, I looked around quickly before jumping off my rooftop, catching hold of a railing of construction planks on the side. Some paint buckets, abandoned, were stacked in a pyramid formation, so I just painted random blocks of white and orange across the side of the unfinished renovations of the window, waiting.

Things happened quickly. I was trying to remember why all of a sudden I agreed. Was it Loraine's threat? Or was it her questions challenging my philosophy of life? What _was_ my philosophy of life, again?

Something was nipping at my brain, I don't know what it was, but it had to do with why I complied. It was those thoughts you knew in your gut were there, but you couldn't quite get a hold on them; the irritating need to voice it out was hanging on the tip of my tongue, refusing to let go.

"So why did you agree, after all that meaningless argument?" invaded Loraine.

". . . To shut you up," I said, crisscrossing strokes of white paint across the window. I always wondered why people were never behind the windows whenever a Runner was by, which was often.

"So it really is all about _you_? You never really cared about the Runners, huh? It was just you and the Edge; your life?" pondered Loraine.

Was she really _that_ fascinated by my egotistic reasons?

"I'm going to listen to my iPod," I told Loraine.

"Fine, we'll talk later. Can't wait to see you tomorrow morning, rookie."

"Don't call me that."

"Listen. The guy in the helicopter is an agent under Callaghan. He'll give you the blueprints to the building. Find the safest route, which I know you Runners are good at, to take Pope without a sound. And be careful, chances he'll have some bodyguards around."

"I want to listen to my iPod," I pushed her.

"Okay, okay, just finish Pope off. When you're done, we'll drop you off a safe place and you won't hear from us until the next morning—at 7:00 sharp, got it? So, I'd get to bed early."

She hung up. At that same moment, I heard Drake.

"CELESTE!"

_Shit._

"CELESTE, are you there? You call that a _morning_ massage!? It's nearly four in the afternoon!" I tried figuring out who was louder, Drake or Merc.

"I hear you, Drake," I growled back, wincing. "Don't you trust me? Can't I be normal?"

"I thought you hated normal—don't give me crap, don't talk back to me! Crisis! God dammit!"

I waited for him to be done cursing. With my paintbrush, I drew a smiley face, only frowning. I wanted to label it, but wouldn't it be funny but bad if Drake came along and saw it.

"Kreeg's been looking all over for you."

"The poor guy," I sympathized dramatically, "he must be wanting a massage himself with you telling him to look for me all the time."

"Then don't disappear for so long! What about your comms, Cel, huh? Why was it off?" His accusations hurt, but I seriously didn't blame him. If I had heart-sensors, I would have guessed his heart had been giving him a migraine.

"Think logically, Drake, I was in a mall. Callaghan's cameras and Blues everywhere. A woman speaking to herself and her ear isn't as common anymore. They've abolished those earpieces citizens used to use for communication in daily business. I couldn't take risks. Besides, I was having fun."

"I feel _so_ happy for you—get your _ass_ back to Merc's," he commanded instantly.

"Can't," I said. "I want to get food. I'll be back within an hour, I swear," I pledged, raising my hand.

"No, that's enough. Merc told me about your long absence last night. We're not taking any more chances with those mystery guys running around." Drake mumbled something, then growled, "What did they want with you anyway?"

"I was a Runner, it was simple. See a Runner, go fetch," I summarized.

Drake was breathing irregularly, as if his breath got caught in his throat, like hiccupping nearly, but I could hear the flaring nostrils. A rumble tickled from his throat, so I waited for him to calm down in cold silence.

Finally, I said, "Hey, I'll get pizza."

"Don't placate me."

"It's on me, I swear."

"I don't care about pizza, Cel—"

"Drake, do you want to _eat_?" It was a mock of what Merc used on a daily base if Faith was slacking on runs.

His nose whistled with hot air. "Hurry up. Keep your comms on. I'll be watching you."

"You're so sweet," I said.

Then, I heard the roar of my helicopter, however, it was far enough for him not to hear how close it was.

"Well, later. I'm hungry. And I know you will be for dinner."

I told him an hour. With him losing trust in me, he seriously was going to monitor me like he did often with his other Runners. Who knows, he'd have Kreeg, Faith, or Merc looking out for me without my knowing. So, I told myself I had to kill Pope within an hour.

The copter didn't have time to ease itself next to my level. I did a running start and landed into the open door side. Inside, the pilot was steering, while his co-pilot tossed me a white copy of the Black Necks' armored attires, including the mask. A gun with those bonus lasers for targeting enemies came along with the suit. It didn't take long for me to figure out how to put it on. By the time I was done, I was already dropped off a distance from Pope's building.

--

The job was easier than I thought. Only one cop had been with Pope when I found access into his office through the old-fashion air vents. I knocked the female cop out from behind, took her gun, and shot him. In the process of his death, Loraine had told me to snatch the diary on his desk. I asked what it was all about, but she said it was nothing to worry about; she wanted me to return safely into the hands of Project Icarus, wherever that was. After escaping the perimeters of Pope's murder scene, a Black Neck in the shadows took it from me gratefully and told me to go home, taking my suit with him in a yellow suitcase. He gave me money, too. Then, he slipped away while I made way to the lair.

"Good job, Cel, I know that was hard for you," said Pepper. "I know Pope's what kept you Running your whole life. But now I'm sending you to Travis Burfield. He was once a professional, yet tempered wrestler. He _was_ Pope's top security bodyguard, but you're gonna give him that money our Black Neck just delivered to you. Ropeburn's a greedy scumbug for a wrestler, we know he'll accept it."

"Why give him money?" I wondered.

"Because he'll agree to take the blame that _he_ killed Pope, not you. Just for precautions."

"That's rough for him—"

"Don't worry about him. He means nothing to you nor us. But be careful when you approach him. He doesn't take shit, especially since you killed his client."

"Yeah . . ."

Ropeburn had been hard to deal with, but considering I had the gun pointed at him, he obliged to take the money and take the blame for Pope's murder. I told him not to tell of my involvement, even though he couldn't identify me through the masked attire. All he would ever guess was that I was a girl. He took the money gratefully, and quit the job of being head of security. And, under Pepper's orders, I told him to meet me again a week or two later so we could plan his escape from the city; Pepper would help me reach him.

When I left, Merc messaged me, cursing at the murder of Pope. "Drake told me about your all-day shopping," he said nearly teasingly, yet with a tinge of concern. "But anyway, come to my lair now since you're running by."

"Getting pizza for Drake, want some?" I declared triumphantly.

"Cel, this is important news. I'm not really in the mood for pizza, nor would you be," said Merc uneasily. "I'll see ya there."

He hung up.

On my way, Loraine congratulated me. "I didn't think you'd do it. So tell me, quickly, _why_, Vanity?"

"I formed a new philosophy." I narrated to her my thoughts when I was on my way to Pope. "Needless conflicts arise just because of political disagreement. We never really learned how to live before or during the mayor campaign."

My ending tone was sincere and thoughtful, to which Loraine gave a marveled "hm".

"Your notions are strangely not like you," said Loraine.

"Keeping journals on me?" It was creepy, they knew me inside out of, nearly.

"Nah, you're predictable, somewhat."

"Gotta go. Get off this line, Raine, I'm approaching Merc's."

"See ya tomorrow." And she was off the air, so silent and beautiful it was hard to believe she'd been invading my line of business my whole Running career without me knowing it. It made me wonder how long she'd been watching me—since Callaghan stepped into the picture?

"What the _hell_, Merc?" burst Faith as I climbed over the rooftop of the AC tower.

Here came the blow, the reaction.

Merc had this smile in his voice as he simplified: "Something's got somebody rattled, kiddo. I dunno what it is, but they're mighty jittery . . ."

I dropped as quickly as I entered.

"Hey, Cel," said Merc, without looking behind him at all.

At the sight of me, Faith smiled warmly yet jokingly. She must have been excited, even though flustered. Sounded like she had better adventure than I did, but I strictly forbid myself to talk more than I should. Too much would give my events away, and I didn't want to endanger or worry both of them.

"Take long to lose them?" asked Faith, half jokingly, half curious over my periodic absence.

I looked at her with this cold, yet excited expression. "Nah, those Blues can't run for shit," I said, my voice strangely loose with confidence and carelessness altogether.

I walked by her and sat down, crossing my legs. I pretended to aim a gun, closing one eye. "I got a little gun-happy, though," I said in a muttered, low, haughty voice.

I _did_. If I _had_ a gun, I would have sniped those four blackheads off the Edge. One of the reasons I loved the Edge.

Next thing I knew, Merc and Faith succinctly filled me in about the mayor candidate, Robert Pope, getting assassinated and Faith's sister getting framed. Kate was _the_ cop who was with Pope before he died. SHIT. Faith never told me she had a sister. That sucked. Even though they were complete opposites for being twin sisters, their bond, apparently from Faith's determined expression, was strong. Why did she never tell me she had a sister? More importantly, a sister who was one of Pope's cops? Too bad I didn't have a sister.

"Wires are buzzing about Pope's murder. Blue traffic is up, _way_ up. Dunno what's got into them. Must be contract renew time. Be careful out there, Cel," finished Faith.

M face remained stone. I looked at her and gave such a false shrug, I was wondering if I was over-acting the clueless game. "So why all the heat?"

"Our girl's been lifting evidence from the crime scene," explained Merc, typing. The glowing screens surrounding his desk flitted and flickered with different pictures and text. "Now every cop in the city seems to be after her."

Faith joined me on the red couch, scooting loser as she handed me a torn piece of paper on the crime scene of Pope's assassination. I recognized it. It was from his diary, she noted, although I already knew that. Who would have thought he'd rip it out, hoping someone friendly would pick up on it. SHIT. Worse of all, _Faith_ had it—now she was in danger. Not just by the Black Necks . . . but from me.

"Is that the evidence you lifted?" I asked, looking closer.

I already knew it was. What a tripper I was, not being able to swipe that piece of paper from the crime scene. Now the Runners had a lead, regardless the size.

"All I can make out," explained Faith with the eyes and tone of a child who discovered something exhilarating, "is 'Icarus'—maybe—and 'to the Highest'."

I squinted, inching the scrap of paper closer to me, trying to appear clueless.

"_Icarus_ . . .?" I reiterated thoughtfully. It was the best I could do; any more words from my mouth would give away my tone of knowledge, so I kept my words to a minimum.

I cocked an eyebrow, turning to Faith. "Wasn't he the Greek guy?"

"Yeah," joined Merc as he peered through the shade-like walls of the room. He watched a helicopter ascend into the heart of the sun; it faded like an ant withering from existence soundlessly. "His dad made him some wings out of feathers and wax. And the boy flew too close to the sun. And _pssssssssss_. No more wings, no more Icarus."

That pretty much defined it all. They had an idea, but not enough. I was relieved it wasn't enough, but these were Runners. They knew their homework.

"If anyone's heard anything, then you know who it will be, Faith," declared Merc, turning to Faith.

Next to me, Faith crossed her arms and legs. She shot back a smirk. "Oh _yeah_?" she emphasized, eyeing Merc.

"I know he ain't a Runner anymore, but he's got contacts," insisted Merc, a smirk in his tone. "You can't avoid him forever."

Faith pushed on. "Wanna bet?"

I was clueless here. I shrugged, asking intently, "Who?"

Faith glared. "Jacknife."

Oh, the drama.


	7. Street Corner

Chapter 7:

Street Corner

The next morning, my life seemed to flow faster, yet less formidable. Drake told me to not run at night, so I stayed at the lair. Merc had gone out to grab breakfast, not wanting me to leave, according to his note he left on the computer. For my own accord, I flipped the sticky note over and told him I was going for a morning jog.

But then Faith swooped in from the skies above. "You're awake," she stated matter-of-factly, eyes drifting to the note Merc left.

"What are you up to?" she added, innocent curiosity.

"Going for a morning jog. Wanna come along?"

I had to start off a new day without being suspicious again. If Faith accompanied me, she wouldn't have anything to report to Merc. And maybe, after returning to the lair, I could ditch her while she planned to meet that Jacknife acquaintance.

"Nah, I got Jacknife to meet," she spurned softly.

She really was serious about her sister.

"As for you, stay here for a bit until I come back," she reproached. "Drake and Merc's orders."

How irritating. Even _Faith_ was getting annoying about the Black Necks chasing me. I didn't blame them; they knew nothing about the Black Necks and what they did or for what reasons.

Faith folded her arms, in serious thought. "He could know anything about Pope's assassination and how to free Kate from charge. I wanna gather as much opportune time as I can." Faith turned to exit, adding over her shoulder, "Tell Merc I'm heading for Jacknife."

"At least wait till he gets back," I advised. "He won't let neither of us leave until this whole blackheads and Pope assassination is dealt with."

"Those black guys," began Faith. She turned to me. "Yeah, we've been looking for them, Kreeg and I. But Merc didn't want us to focus so much on them. Pope's assassination was a big hit on the city, and we need to do something before things get out of hand. And with Kate being tried, I can't just sit and do nothing. You go on your morning run, but stay close."

Suddenly Merc dropped in. "Morning," he declared, smiling with relief at us both. "Got some cereal, waffles, bacon, and even cinnamon buns. Who wants some?"

Faith grabbed a cinnamon roll from a package Merc already opened. As she bit into it, she said, "I'm gonna look for Jacknife."

"Whoa, kiddo, not without my monitoring." Merc already sat into his chair and started typing away.

Faith smiled at him, then me, before facing upward at the hole. "Wish me luck."

I gave her a short nod, saying, "Be careful."

"The usual."

"Turn your comms on," shouted Merc.

I was about to follow her so I could meet Loraine for our "morning jog", but Merc went all Daddy on me.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

I turned to him, glaring. "_Seriously_. Just a morning jog. I'll be nearby—"

"Drake's orders."

"Drake's not here. And you're not my father nor Tracker."

Merc looked at me. The one thing I liked about him was that he was calm at the weirdest, random, or even scary moments. His eyes scanned me carefully, as if reconsidering like a kind, protective, fair father.

I shrugged in soft frustration. "I've been fine ever since those blackheads' first appearance. I'm a Runner, remember?"

I abandoned him anyway before he could do anything. I didn't care if he was once a Runner, I could still outrun him.

--

"Ya there, anyone? Black Necks?" I didn't know who'd be sitting at that desk with a microphone in their ear or something; I just shouted.

"I've always been here, just quiet."

Pepper.

"Where's Raine?"

"She'll meet you at New Eden Mall on Shard Avenue."

"I promised my Trackers I'd 'jog' nearby."

"You're not doing anything dangerous, _god_. You're under our protection and supervision. Don't listen to them, they're just paranoid. Now that you're with the PK, you're free."

_Free . . .?_

It depended on her definition of "Free".

I cocked an eyebrow. "PK?"

"Consider us like 'Pursuit Kops', but that's not what PK stands for—that's Pirandello/Kruger, the independent firms that provide the City Police Force (CPF) the security forces needed to maintain this city: that's your patrol cops, riot cops, SWAT cops, and SWAT support, and the PK units—that's _us_, the Black Necks. Just a catchy title."

"The whole entity of irritation," I commented.

"Look, the CPF may seem 'misguided', but it's not wholly evil. Some Blues just wanna make their employers happy—not all are Callaghan freaks. As for us, we're the special fraction of the PK who is called upon for supreme emergencies. "

"_I_ was an emergency?"

"Well, it was Raine's suggestion to the CPF to invite you. She's convincing, she nailed it, obviously."

So, they were a special PK unit who called themselves Black Necks—all under the establishment, authority, and supervision of Project Icarus, initiated by Callaghan.

That was a lot of surprising information to take in. Just that one name, PKs, summarized everything I got myself involved in—but it was _so_ complex at the same.

I sighed, missing a few breaths as I felt them skipping and jittering inside my chest. "Can I tell you something strange?"

"Hm? What's wrong?" asked Pepper with pure curiosity waiting to be satisfied.

Pause. "All this tension and swooping around as double-agent is giving me a headache. Plus, my muscles are tensed from all that Running."

"What . . .?" Her voice faded suddenly before she declared, "You want a _massage_? Is THAT why you joined us? A MASSAGE? You really _are_ a virgin!"

I heard Reagan in the back round. "OmiGOD."

Sarcasm, as usual.

Reagan added, "Told you she was a virgin. I'm telling ya, she really likes the wealthy life. Welcome to the PK, Vanity."

I didn't say anything as I suddenly jumped from my rooftop, plunged into the abyss of an alley, and jumped from wall to wall between both buildings until I landed on some outside fire escape stairs.

"Seriously? _That's_ why you joined—for a fucking _massage_?" Pepper was nearly chortling, but cut herself short as she cleared her throat and tried to make it sound as though she wasn't smiling. "Ok, well . . ."

Tony's voice ripped through our communicators. "Damn, I thought it was because of me."

Of course he'd be listening.

Pepper and I ignored him. "Oh, did you bring clothes?" she asked me.

"Duh. I'm wearing them."

"Not that boring red shirt and dark-blue jeans again," snorted Reagan. "You Runners are limited. Good thing we have the money to get you shopping."

"Don't worry, Reagan's not as girly as she sounds, nor as cynical," interrupted Pepper. "Ignore both her and Tony. Listen, you don't need to dress up fancy or anything for a morning jog—don't worry about it, I'll have someone bring running tank tops and shorts and shoes to Raine—"

"I have clothes," I barked.

"At least _look_ normal," urged Pepper. "We're the government, we've figured you Runners out. All Runners like red—lots of it. Don't wear that red shirt of yours. Try a new pair of shoes; old ones are bad for your ankles. You're a Black Neck, now."

"Stop calling me a Black Neck. Ya know, it really sounds weird when you say that," I scoffed.

"Are you _there_, yet?" demanded Reagan.

"Yeah, almost. What does Raine look like? You really expect me to identify her for the first time?"

"No need to fret. She knows what you look like. Have a good jog."

The Black Necks signed off, while I stepped into that bright light that was my only existence. The whole streets were nothing but white and black: shadows and light. The white sunlight bounced off every frikkin building, fountain, memorial site, color advertisements, bulletin boards, signs, and cars. The shadows were faint blurs streaking here and there, but I missed them already as I stepped out into the supernova of sunlight. So bright. I shaded my eyes, in a painful wince. Citizens were drifting aimlessly yet busily across my vision, making it an annoying blur. Searching for Loraine at this huge New Eden Mall was going to be a challenge, even though she was supposed to look out for me.

I walked over to a circular bench that went all the way around into itself, with a tree at its heart. A businessman was leafing through his suitcase while a teenager was texting.

One would understand why the city was so sensitive to any form of communications. These two random citizens already looked suspicious in their normal activities. The teenager could be a Runner or a Tracker, texting her knowledge, while the businessman could be a client of a Runner for all I knew.

"Hello, Celeste."

She must have been watching me for some time. She came to me so quick; I was only there for literally two minutes, standing like a furious, clueless, yet frustrated girl who got ditched by her boyfriend without really knowing it.

I looked to my right. She was just as I expected: like Pepper and Reagan.

A flipping _model_.

Actually, she had this slutty secretary look to her.

Loraine smiled like a friendly businesswoman, offering a hand to shake. I refused, staring at her.

Typical, bad-ass, hot woman. Looked like she was in her late twenties. She passed as those models for women's sports or health magazines: mini-tank top baring her perfectly toned abdomen, with the dark-blue sports shorts revealing hints of black spandex shorts underneath. Long, sleek legs emphasized lithe-like strides and power. She was all authority, the way she looked at me as if I dissed her handshake with my lack of trust. Yet, she was analyzing me, a tiny smirk hidden at the corner of her perfect, small, curvy mouth with faint pink lip gloss. I couldn't miss that smug, I expected it out of every cynically, secretive acquaintance I'd run into.

"You appear just as cynical as I do," retorted Loraine, as if she read my mind. But she smiled gently. "Ready for our jog?" She stretched side-ways as she leaned to the side, arm reaching over her, the other hand firm on her hip.

"You weren't kidding," I remarked, a little startled.

"What, you thought we'd leap rooftops and such?"

"_Exactly_ what I thought."

"You're a Black Neck, now."

"And unfortunately, so are you."

I couldn't tell if I wanted to trust her. Doing normal jogging alongside of her was, in a way, a symbol of our instant "bond". She had that stern agent's face, so serious and focused on one goal. She was an American brunette, her braid ponytail on the side of her head in a cute manner. I noticed the single earring dangling opposite from her braid: ambulant-looking spheres of several sizes on a silver chain. Milk-warm silvery eyes examined me with apparent increasing interest. I seriously was like a toy to her.

"Let's go jogging, shall we?"

"Why? Why down here?"

"Isn't that how you were trained? Starting off with jogs?"

"Yes, but not down here."

"It looks normal, okay? Plus, it'd be harder to spot us in this crowd, now that your friends are monitoring you so protectively."

"Can't blame them. You guys won't leave me alone."

"Which is why jogging with a friendly-looking woman like me could be of help," concluded Loraine as she tossed me the bundle of clothes and shoes she was clutching from the beginning. "We'll go into a nearby store or something and have you change. C'mon."

After exiting a shop nearby, I joined Loraine in my new black tank top similar to hers, but not revealing as much stomach as she did. Her shorts were a bit too short, nearly skanky, so I decided to uneasily push my white shorts farther down my legs. As for the spandex, they were so annoying, itchy, and stretchy I felt so restrained. I didn't know why they wore these.

I understood why, later on.

A shirtless guy suddenly ran up next to us.

My eyes bulged: "You've _got_ to be kidding me . . .!?"

Tony grinned, waving. I averted my eyes, overwhelmed by his all muscle-and-motion presence. He was chiseled, smooth, strong, and handsomely defined from his shorts to his thick neck, that including his burly arms. I saw veins, hints of pure muscle power.

"You're comrades, get it through your head," said Loraine. Apparently she already knew of my personal discomfort with Tony's presence.

Tony gave a toothy grin at her. "Heyyyy, boss! Looking sharp!"

Loraine nearly snorted, looking away briefly as our pace pedaled a bit faster. "You couldn't resist, could you, Tony?"

"C'mon, Celeste's a babe, why would I _miss_ out on her _running_—" Tony suddenly exploded as he looked at me, "WHAT? Why didn't you give her _your_ tank-top, Raine? Damn, you're boring, Cel!"

I jogged faster, avoiding him at all costs. Loraine caught with ease, while Tony doggedly caught up in a chain of complaints.

"What was the _point_ of this jog?" I growled to her, pumping faster.

Loraine huffed a bit, but smiled adventurously. "Geeze, stop showing off."

"I'm trying to pick up a pace, ya know."

"I know you hate Tony, but forget him. He won't grab you or anything." In a friendly manner, Loraine laughed. Her tone was light and feathery. For once, I wasn't bothered by her pestering.

Tony caught up again. "Give up, Cellie, I'm a Black Neck, so are you."

"That's news." I dashed some yards ahead of him again to avoid him. Loraine caught up again, finding my efforts vainly funny.

"Look," she huffed, jogging by my side, "this was a chance to bond, ya know? I'm your employer, you're a Black Neck. We're a team, unlike how you Runners claim yourselves. And how can I get to know you with you sprinting a 400-meter dash?"

"Because there is a drooling crook on our heels," I reminded her sharply. I dashed again, and Loraine kept up with me. Tony caught up with ease, but his efforts were slow, as if he was enjoying the chase.

"Tell me your likes and dislikes, Cel," begged Loraine.

Our breathing was synchronized, our strides and arms in graceful combination, yet I could still hear the genuine tone in her voice.

"What does it matter, though? For all we know, you could just be manipulating me. You'll turn every data you have on me, against me," I told her.

"You talk like a strategist. Chat, not talk," advised Loraine, smiling.

"Why do you ask my personal likes and dislikes? You probably have a profile on me already."

"Can we _chat_, please?"

The sunshine polished our skin in tan sweat as we ran faster and faster, but not to the point that it was Running. Being trained as we were, we found our pace rather soothing, with flow. To normal people, I was sure they were thinking we were in a running marathon or something.

"You need to get used to running down here, too," continued Loraine after five minutes of jogging. "You'll learn a few things down here, too—whether regarding your fellow citizens or the Blues themselves."

"What about the Blues?" The mention of them knifed me with irritation, but I was curious where she was getting to. Bringing up the Blues came out of nowhere, suspiciously, the way she said it.

"The majority of Blues support Callaghan, right?" panted Loraine as she tried to explain smoothly. "And we're the PK, who support Callaghan. I thought you understood by now that the PK and the Blues coexist."

That last word sent a hiss through my throat. "Blues. They're so full of shit, so annoying." I exhaled in frustration, seeing that I was jogging.

"Listen, now that you're with us, we can't use anything against you even if it is personal profile data. You're _with_ us, Cel, and you're going to coexist with the Blues. You'll see where this jog will lead to. Sooner or later, we'll cross an every-day crime taking place, even though crime is rare nowadays."

I didn't like how this peaceful, simple jog came out to be. It wasn't just Tony, it was the purpose of the jog. Didn't Loraine just say she wanted to bond with me? Did she mean it physically, too, in which we would coexist with those oppressive Blues?

Loraine interrupted my cranking thoughts. I really wanted a massage, now.

"Look, what I'm saying is that we're like the cops, only like Runners, which is why we are called the PK," she explained. "The only new thing is our target. Our target, as PKs, used to be Runners. Now that we have you, a former Runner, joining us and willing to share her skills of Running, we can use that knowledge for the benefit of the city: we chase down thieves, bank robbers, murderers who try to flee, take down any prison refugees or terrorists, etc. You get it? We're not as oppressive, but we're the faster and safest and easier way to securing societal justice in this city."

Wow, Project Icarus really had an ideal.

Loraine pressed on. "I hope this doesn't upset you, but if things get serious between the Runners and us PKs, then we will have to chase them down and take them out. And you're a Black Neck—you may have to do so, too. But that doesn't always mean killing. Jailing them is fair enough, the least we can do."

My face went blank from impact of the reality-hit her news delivered. I thought about it, and realized I should have seen it coming.

"You're probably wondering where all the bonding comes in?" Loraine suddenly tapped my arm, signaling us to slow down a bit for the sake of our bodies; we've been running for ten minutes at medium speed. "Well, the bonding doesn't just concern between us comrades. It's concerned with the Blues. That's why I'm talking about our coexistence with the Blues. We need to connect with all forms of security and force to sustain the utopian, safe, beautiful city we live in."

This was a lot of news I wasn't expecting. Not only did the Black Necks expect me to betray my friends, but to take down other Runners I barely knew—comrades, nevertheless. And to obey every whim of the government, of Project Icarus. _And_ cooperate with the Blues, the SWAT, etc.!?

"Why do you Runners hate the Blues, mind my asking?" It was Tony who asked, and he'd been quiet the entire time, I nearly forgot about him jogging behind or next to us. He joined our perfectly horizontal line of joggers.

My rhythmical breathing got the better of me, fusing with my thoughts and heartbeat as I thought my answer out.

"It's simple. They tried to kill me," I answered matter-of-factly.

Tony laughed. "Right."

I glared at him. "You tried to kill me, too."

"Nahhh, I just tasered you, that's all."

"It was your initial intention, though," I argued, pissed.

"Hey, you asked for it," he snapped.

This was the first he barked at me since our initial impression of each other. Ever since, he'd been all perverted and goofy.

"Because you were trying to kill me," I repeated, harsher.

"Shut up, you two," commanded Loraine, not too harsh, not too kind. Enough to get us to look ahead or at her as she continued. "Ok, well, Cel, you're gonna have to get used to it. We need to all join together for this city's sake. Order, yet peace, must be achieved. You know, Cel, there is one thing Runners and Blues had in common."

"What's _that_?" I demanded instantly, narrowing my eyes forward as I hugged onto those despicable words mentally.

"We want peace."

"Oh please," I chortled.

"Don't snicker, it's true. Our views of peace may be achieved in different manners from each other, but it's all the same."

"'The ends don't justify the means'," I taunted darkly.

Tony rolled his eyes.

The two tried to talk to me more, but I told them jogging required oxygen, which we needed to save. So, we jogged in silence. Once in a while I tried to lose Tony, but Loraine got pissed with me.

After a while, Loraine slowed down to a halt. She looked at a watch or stopwatch on her wrist, then stroke her forehead from diamonds of perspiration.

"Well," she declared, smiling, "how about some ice-cream?"

Tony submitted without a problem. "SHIT, YA! Get me vanilla!"

Loraine poked fun at him in a stringent tone, exposing her inner child. "I didn't say I was going to get it for you, fuck-face. I simply suggested it out of considerate proposal. Get your own fucking ice-cream."

"Dipping Dots!"

Ahead of us next to a fountain in a neon-green park, Tony raced to a Dipping Dots vendor.

I looked at Loraine. "You trained _that_ guy? What other kind of perverts do you train?"

"He's a human being, just like you, just like me." Loraine smiled serenely, grinning as Tony ran back to ask to borrow money. "You're a rich bachelor, for heaven's sake. Use your own money, you loaner."

Tony swore as he wheeled around, afraid to lose his spot in the line that was growing. It was sweltering, today.

I followed Loraine as she hurried gracefully to the fountain. She leaned over and got her hair wet. It was so human of her, I couldn't face her knowing that seconds ago she was a Black Neck.

She let her wet, tangled, sticky hair out of her hair tie. Strands of chocolate hair plastered to her slimy, wet skin cooling under the kiss of fountain water. She wiped the nape of her neck, strengthening the cool of water.

"Aren't you hot?" she asked me quizzically.

I shrugged and did as she did. When I flipped my head back after the splash, I let the fingers of water linger all over my face. I looked back at Loraine, but found myself staring beyond her.

Tony was getting his Dipping Dots, which I was surprised still existed. I was a child when I last had the bead-sized ice-cream.

"You gonna have ice-cream, too?" Loraine nudged me. She was already comfortable to nudge me, as if we were buddies. "Here."

She thrust a few dollars against my chest, which I caught before they fell from her grasp. The Black Neck turned her back on me, splashing water in her face.

I raised them to her in refusal. "I'm not _poor_. Runners get paid. Got my own money."

Before she could turn down my refusal, I shoved her money into her hands, then walked away.

Loraine called after me, "Get Tony away from the ice-cream—it's bad for his health if he pigs it all down."

Tony was getting quiet mutters and impatient shifting from customers behind him as he tried to decide on two purchases of ice-creams of two different flavors. I found it so amusing, yet so weird of him. He was more childish than I gave him credit for.

"Hey, lecherous old man, get your ice-cream and let's go," I said.

Tony turned to me, frowning in shock. "I can understand 'lecherous', but _old_ man?"

"Your shaggy face makes you look like a cross between a drug-dealer and an old-man rapist," I said flatly.

"Was that a tease or sarcasm, because there's a big difference," he muttered, glaring. Then, taking my words to heart, he felt his jawline, frowning. "It's not that hairy."

I glowered. "Hurry up. You got a line forming a conspiracy behind you, too."

Tony delivered another of his perverted grins as he turned to the vendor and made his decision: he ordered two plastic bowls of Dipping Dots, one vanilla for him, and the other was mint-chocolate.

"Here ya go," he chimed as he whirled and handed me the mint-chocolate.

My eyes widened, shocked, looking at him. Then, passed him.

Nahlah was watching me the entire time. I had been so oblivious to the tan-skinned girl hidden under the awning of her Dipping Dots cart. When I finally saw her, she looked away quickly, attention on her next customers.

Tony nudged me with the Dipping Dots. "Hey, c'mon, I got you Dipping Dots. I thought mint-chocolate was your fav—" He stopped himself in a monologue of hisses.

I ignored him. Instantly, the words stumbled from my lips as I insisted, "No, I can pay for myself."

That feeling arouse again, the one that I couldn't quite describe—like when you forgot the name of a person's name, and you knew it, but you couldn't bring it up at the instant.

I shouldered self-consciously past Tony, approaching the counter.

"What are you doing?" said Nahlah, looking at me in shock.

I felt the heat getting to me again. A flush burned through my face as I stepped back, realizing I had nearly cut line. I waited, reprimanding myself mentally, holding my money, feeling like a beggar—a shame to society. Total stupidity.

When the short line finished, it was my turn. Behind me, Tony had been nagging me with words trying to distract me from buying my own ice-cream, when that wasn't even my intention.

"Uh, hi," I said as I approached the counter.

Nahlah looked at me, eyes revealing a glint of shock before she smiled in her usual timid way. "Hello."

I wondered if she recognized me. Wait, of course she did, she'd been staring at me since I joined Tony at the counter.

I fumbled with my dollars before asking, "Um, I'll have mint-chocolate, please."

Tony barked from behind, "I _just_ ordered you that—!"

Loraine came out of nowhere, glaring at him as she crossed her arms. "She's a big girl, Tony."

"I wasted my money—!" he remonstrated, poking a plastic spoon in her direction.

"You've got plenty. It's just ice-cream."

Nahlah looked from him to me, giving an uncertain look. "Um, wouldn't you be better off taking up his? Don't waste your money on something he got for you."

"Do you want to earn a living?" I snapped softly, handing her money as though I just offered it freely.

That was when I realized my words were abrupt, rude, and thoughtless. Nahlah's eyes bulged slightly before her jaw nearly fell.

I tightened my jaws together as I looked down. "I didn't mean that."

She smiled, shaking her head vigorously. "No, that's fine—I knew what you meant. But no, you're wasting money—I'm sorry, I didn't mean _that_—" She concluded with a gasp as she covered her mouth, looking away.

I looked up at her keenly. "No, it's fine."

What the _hell_ was going on, here?

I slid money across the counter toward her. "Just take it," I said sternly. "Mint-chocolate."

"It's $1.25," she said succinctly.

Her hand met the money halfway. Our fingertips touched. Automatically, my hand shot back less than an inch while she stared at me briefly, before taking the money and turning around to cash it. I watched her silently, as she scooped the Dipping Dots, spilled them into a bowl, and handed it to me.

"You look like you need it," she noted. "It's hot out here. You jogging?"

"Yeah. What are you doing selling ice-cream at this time of day?"

She gave me a look. "Um, it's eleven in the morning. Around lunch."

I blinked. How _long_ have we been running? I recalled how long and silent our jogging was, every now and then Loraine explaing Project Icarus and Tony trying to make conversation.

I shook out of it as I said, "Oh. Um—wait, don't you do massages, though?"

"Volunteer work, here," she answered, smiling and giving a cute shrug. "For a friend who runs these."

From behind, Tony interrupted, "Jogging, Cel. C'mon."

Loraine looked at him before asking aloud, "Who is she talking to?"

Tony replied huskily, "Looks like that massage chick from _Spa&Soul_ on Blake Street—OOH, it _is_ the massage chick!"

My new boss blinked, taking in the sight, before beaming ear from ear. "Ohhh, right. Pep told me how you've been tensed, lately. And how you loved your first massage. Setting up a new appointment, Cel?"

I shot a look at both Tony and Loraine. Their suggestions or accusations got me fired up for some reason, but not in the angry way. I turned to Nahlah, who'd been watching and listening to me in silent observation. She smiled when I looked back at her.

"That why you came over?" she joked.

So she has a sense of a humor. Great, she'd get along with Tony.

My answer to her question was different, though.

For some reason, however, I nodded, not really looking at her. "Yeah, my back's been tense. Ya know, work and everything."

She nodded in understanding, then smiled. "Sure. When?"

"Um . . ." I pondered, looking back at my new boss with an inquiring look in my eyes.

Loraine shrugged. "Today you should relax, Cel. Got a lot on your mind, right?" She smiled.

I turned around to Nahlah again. "Is . . . this evening, okay?"

"Sure, what time?" Nahlah pulled out a notebook from her pockets, and sprung a pencil from her ear, which I didn't see due to her thick, wavy hair. "I'm available around 3:00 until 5:00. That good?"

"Early as possible," I said, nodding, all business.

She smiled, then paused in her scribbling. She looked up; those addicting shades of blue haunted me, cutting right into me. "Um, what's your name, please?"

"Celeste. Just call me Celeste."

She smiled. For a moment before she looked down again it to jot my name, there was a moment where her eyes seemed to read deeper into mine, as if searching, looking, admiring. Her eyes lowered before I could read anything out of them. But that moment felt like another of my breathtaking seconds of hourly eternity.

"Ok, I'll see you later on today, Celeste," she confirmed heartily, putting away the pencil and notebook.

I gave a thin, yet shy and genuine smile at her. She returned it just as thinly, but her smile grew wider. She cleared her throat, then asked timidly, "Um, could you move aside? More customers."

"Sure. See ya." I gave her a last look, searching for that shade of blue light in her eyes that captured my attention entirely; I twitched a smile quickly to excuse my searching stare. Nahlah looked at me, trying to excuse herself as well with another quick flash of a small smile before I turned and joined my new comrades.


	8. Stillness of Dawn

Chapter 8:

Stillness of Dawn

"Hey, Drake," I said on my earpiece.

"Celeste, you're slacking. C'mon, I got a run for you—"

"I'm going for another massage. Sorry, Drake."

"Another one? Seriously, Cel, what's been stressing you? I can understand being a Runner does that, but you love Running, regardless of the danger. What's the deal? Am I that loud and annoyingly stressing?"

I chuckled. "Nah. I just like massages."

"This isn't the time, Cel," argued Drake impatiently, "Plus, how you gonna get more massages without doing some commissions for the money? Look, ever since Pope's murder, things have been difficult. We've been losing Runners."

"Huh?"

Of course, I knew, though.

He explained, "I can't find Dobra or Madison, two Runners. Both missing. And Merc and I have a bad feeling about this. We think it's those blackheads. It's like they're flipping Runners in disguise—they come out of nowhere and drag down our Runners!"

"I don't blame you. They nearly got me," I agreed. I wasn't lying: they nearly did, until I agreed to join them.

"Yeah, who are they? Seriously, we can't find out anything about them. I sent Ember to find out about them, but they've been hot on our trail, I didn't want to risk losing her, too."

"Damn, _now_ I'm stressed, Drake."

Drake sighed, swearing.

"Be careful, Cel, seriously."

"Don't sweat it. I'm already at my massage."

"Where are you, just in case of emergencies?"

"Spa&Soul Resort," I replied.

"Kay. I'll keep that in mind. Stay on alert."

"Okay, see ya, Drake."

--

I read the _Spa&Soul Massage Room_ label on the see-through door before me. It led into the waiting room lounge, the door that led to Nahlah on the other side. Without hesitation, I pushed through, the thick glass door opening heavily, yet soundlessly. Two other women and a man waited patiently in heavy silence. I sat down silently, picked up a spa magazine, and leafed through it mindlessly.

I glanced at the rather fancy, abstract clock high on the wall. It declared 2:50, ten minutes before my massage appointment. My innards fluttered at the thought, but I tamed them with a soft, quick exhale before reading on.

Minutes later, the door squeaked open, Nahlah stepping through quietly. "Mr. Matthew Hawkins?"

The man a seat from me smiled at her, closed his newspaper, and got up. As he walked past Nahlah through the door, I looked at her. She was wearing a thin black turtle-neck with long sleeves, exposing some stomach as usual; along with pale green baggy pants.

Nahlah closed the door behind them.

An icy irritation struck through my heart. _I thought . . . it was my turn . . .?_

I asked the lady next to me what time it was. She said it was exactly as I figured: 2:55 pm. What the _hell_ was going on?

I looked at the door, my heart plummeting into an abyss of confusion and total irascibility. I just glared at the glass door that led to the massage room.

An hour and a half later, Mr. Hawkins walked out, rolling his relaxed shoulders with satisfaction. He thanked Nahlah, who still hadn't walked out. As he left, she called out "Ms. Charlotte Wiggins?" The 50-year-old blonde woman next to me got off her phone she'd been whispering into, and entered. In disbelief, I gaped after her; the door closed. Another hour and a half ticked by slowly.

About half-way through Wiggins' appointment, I got a call on my comms. I had told Loraine there was no need for it during a massage, but she insisted in case our higher authorities assigned us emergency missions.

I stepped out of the lounge out into the main hall.

"What?" I muttered.

"Where are you? Your massage was supposed to be done, what, two hours ago?" condemned Reagan.

My eyes thinned as I leaned against the wall. "You're not my boss. Where are the others?"

"That doesn't matter. Raine had to go out and take down a suspect whom we assumed was a Runner. Bullet and Greed are commanding Blues to track down a prisoner. You shoulda been back by now!"

"My appointment completely ditched me. Other customers are going before me, on _my_ time!" I snapped, smacking my rolled up magazine against my thighs.

Reagan paused. "Ugh, that _sucks_. Massages—never ditch a customer like that. Why would they do that, anyway?"

"I don't know!" I roared. I lowered it to a notch, though.

"Ah, really that sucks. Well, then, just contact us when you're done."

"Am I supposed to be on commission or something?" I asked her, wondering why she tried to contact me.

"No, Raine had me contact you. She was getting pissed."

"I am, too, ya know."

"I bet. I'll tell her the problem and will call again if it really is an emergency. She had to take up your position, though, tonight."

"She's running an errand for me?" I was startled. Wow, I liked my boss.

"Don't get used to it. She's _pissed_," she emphasized slowly.

I sighed. "Yeah."

"Try not to go get massages too much, Vanity."

"They're so nice, though."

I heard a grin in her voice. "I know. Well, later."

Her departure was so kind, I was startled by her being patient with me.

I returned to the lounge, sat down, and glared at the floor. I had already looked through every single magazine they provided on the tables; knew details in and out. I could have recited them if someone asked.

Dammit, I could have been Running right now, enjoying the breeze up on the city tops. Nice, warm, fresh night air, city lights blushing the night-concealed clouds above with a slight rosy color . . .

--

I had nodded off to sleep. A hand shook me slightly. My eyes fluttered open lazily, my sight blurred by a dreamlike scenery. I had been leaning off my elbow, cheek on my palm.

I popped alive, looking up.

It was her blue eyes that were the first thing I noticed. Then, how close her face was as she leaned down from trying to awake me. "I'm _so_ sorry, miss."

_Miss? C'mon, I told you my name was Celeste. Enough formal talk._

I then remembered where I was. I sat up straight, and found myself glaring a bit. "What the _hell_ was that all about?"

Nahlah straightened up, immediately folding her hands shyly behind her. She averted her gaze. "Please, hear me out . . ."

"Did you seriously forget me?" I asked her impatiently, but my tone was lighter. My gaze was stressed heavily upon her, though.

"No," she replied, mouth tightening, as if preventing herself from saying anything misleading. Before I could speak, she said with more force, "Of course I didn't forget."

I looked at her. Sighing, I wiped my eyes from my nap and looked at her again. Then, I looked past her at the clock.

"Shit, it's six o'clock!?" I nearly bellowed, shooting up from my seat. I gaped.

Nahlah walked to the door, opened it, and gestured me inside. "I'm _really_ sorry. You may come in, now."

I seriously didn't care about the massage anymore. I wanted to know why she delayed my appointment like that. I was there since three!

I didn't voice my thoughts, though. I silently looked shortly at her before walking past her.

Nahlah closed the door after her, then stood there. "So, your back?"

I looked at her, my heart still feeling heavy from the impatience it built up. "Yeah."

"I'll leave the room while you change. Just crack the door," she told me. I nodded to her as she left with a gentle click of the door.

As I undressed, I found where the music was coming from. A boom box was underneath her table, playing natural music in which you heard the birds chirping, that celestial flute, and the tranquil ripples of piano. Haunting, angelic voices backed up the instrumental tone of the music. I took a look at the albums she had scattered around it. The one empty was the music she was currently playing:

_Solitudes: In the Midst of Angels._

It was a very fitting, divine mood for the place I was in: in the midst of an angel. It was this type of music that reminded you of a Heaven and of Nature, considering the hell you were in. At least, in this city.

I cracked the door and climbed onto my bedlike platform. Seconds afterwards, Nahlah walked in. She went to the little table holding all she needed for a perfect massage, collecting the salve, towels, and even the heating stones I often saw in the advertisements or in magazines.

She saw me looking at the heating stones and smiled. "Don't be alarmed, they won't burn you."

I gave her a look before I realized she was indirectly mocking me, recalling the Black Necks calling me a "virgin". I declared defensively, "Don't listen to them. It's not true."

She just smiled sweetly, trying to restrain a grin. She let go of it, though, something I knew Tony or Reagan would have a hard time doing.

"Who were your friends?" she asked innocently. I heard her rubbing the salve on, already starting on the soles of my feet.

"Just friends."

She looked at me, to which I reacted by burrowing my head into my arms comfortably. She submitted with a sigh. "I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Hawkins is an important man. He's a lobbyer for Callaghan, owner of some hotels around here."

I didn't respond. "The other women were emergencies, too. They ran modeling businesses or top-starred TV shows around here. Don't you pay attention to the news or something?"

"Nah."

"Apparently, you don't."

Her strokes against my feet were so blissful I had a hard time responding to her prodding, random questions.

"I'm really sorry. The best I could do was tag your appointment last, seeing I had no more clients for the day. If you want, you could have an extra half an hour than they did. Or even an hour."

I raised my drowsy state of mind out of my arms as I looked over my shoulders at her. Looking at her face, to which she tried to block out as she focused on my feet, I sensed discomfort.

_Is she . . . intimidated by me? Am I really that intimating, do I really have such a bad temper?_

When she saw me staring at her, I think she mistook it as a glare: Nahlah turned her attention to applying more massaging salve, and gradually ascended up my legs where I couldn't help but grow all lazy on in silence.

Nahlah finally gathered some courage to speak again. "Um, miss? You didn't answer me: do you want an extra half an hour, or an hour—?"

"An hour would be nice," I hummed in pleasure to my massage.

She didn't answer; the silence, somehow, felt like it was replaced by different, happy type of silence.

My eyes were closed, but I spoke: "And call me Celeste."

Pause. "Sorry."

The silence swooned on, the _Solitudes_ album adding more eternal beauty and silence to the calm mood. After what could have been ten minutes, I murmured, "Where'd you get this music?"

She sounded delighted by my interest. "Fye store."

"Really?" I loved that store, minus my constant search for iPod-related stuff.

"Sounds like you go there often." She sounded interested, too. "I _love_ music."

"Same. I get stuff for my iPod all the time: albums, headphones every now and then, iPod casings."

"What can kind of iPod do you have?"

"A nano. You?"

"An iMovie."

I found myself smiling, nibbling thoughts carrying me to ideas I found absurd to consider. After another fifteen minutes, Nahlah decided to skip my back and pressed into the palms of my hand. It was such an addictive caress, especially with the ointment she applied: slippery, dance-like, pleasing, with a caring touch. Even when she pulled up and down my arms with the ointment, the tug completed me.

Finally, she reached my favorite part. Her knuckles cracked artistically down my spine, or rubbed and pinched softly, yet intensely.

"How's that feel? Am I hitting a spot?" she whispered.

"Yeah . . ."

"What's getting you so stressed?" She pushed harder into my back with effort.

The truth was, I wasn't actually stressed at all. Ever since joining Project Icarus, no one has pursued me. No Blues nor PKs pursued me. I was filthy rich, and content with my daily massages to come. My only concerns were Tony's stalkish, perverted behavior, or the Runners getting suspicious of me. What really made my muscles tense was the simple touch of her massaging me.

"Tony, actually. That guy," I lied.

Instantly, Nahlah's muscle power in her fingers against my back loosened immensely to the point that she nearly stopped.

"Him?" she murmured as casual as she could. "Love quarrels, or something?"

"He's been bugging me. I'm so occupied with losing him, I don't have time for anything else," I complained. Tony wasn't the reason for my tensed back, but he was the reasons for my recent vexations.

Nahlah gave a light laugh, amused by my reasons. "_Really_? So, he's just been annoying you?"

"Unfortunately."

"That's funny."

"Not really," I corrected. "It's _so_ annoying."

"I don't blame you." Her hands hardened against my muscles delightfully. I returned to satisfying quietude.

Then, Nahlah's hands slowly but surely traced down toward my ass. My heart nearly budged violently against my chest as if hoping to escape. I held my breath as her thumbs pressed against my buttocks before receding upward again. At the top of my back, her thumbs stroke out, then she sloped downward again, the pressure so delightful.

"How's that?" she murmured with caution.

_God, how do I respond to that?_

I smiled a bit. "Perfect."

"Good . . . and your back?"

I lied. "Still feels tense."

"Do you want me to press harder?"

"Yeah, do what you do."

_Awe, shit . . . I love massages . . ._

It was nothing but crawling, gliding fingers of divine grace: continuous strokes and pushes coerced against my buttocks or spine, or even in the regions of my shoulder. My eternity.

All the time, a new song of birds, the sound of combing waves against the shore, a flute, occasional violins, piano, and a humming woman had been playing. I loved this album, it matched the mood so perfectly.

"Mhmm," I murmured, "what's the name of this track?"

"_Stillness of Dawn_," answered Nahlah, as soft and enthralled as I was.

Damn, this night couldn't have been any better. I was in heaven: the music, the massage, the setting, the woman.

_Stillness of Dawn . . ._

This was my stillness, my zero hour, hour of stillness—you name it. This was better than that hour of the second I felt as I leapt over rooftops or jumped for poles and bars. I knew my time here was limited, but then again, she'd just offered extra time. The simple, considerate offer after pissing me off really inserted a feeling of eternity and peace. I had never felt . . . so _alive_, even though getting daily massages shouldn't be considered very active and "lively".

She asked, "You like it?"

"Yeah."

"Reminds me of the beach. God, I haven't been in Mexico in so long."

"Mexico?" My head perked up with wonder. "What ethnicity are you, by the way?"

"I'm Spanish-Mexican," she declared timidly.

"You don't sound like it."

She chuckled slightly. "My family immigrated here three years ago. But they recently moved back to Mexico, while I stayed here for my education. We still talk Spanish when we see each other, otherwise I grew up the rest of my life here. Became fluent in English . . ."

"That's cool." Now that I listened closely, I could hear her rolling accents of a Spanish-Mexican. I hadn't heard or talked to any foreigners in such a long time. It was a comfort, knowing there was a world beyond this one.

"Thanks."

"You visit Mexico often, or something?"

"For family reunions, yes. But that's yearly, or every other year . . ."

"But what are you still doing in _this_ city?" I scoffed in disgust, without meaning to be rude, though.

"My parents wanted me to succeed. This is the place."

There was a long thoughtful silence after that. Her hands continued to sink down my spine and nearly to my ass, pushing and retreating. She must have been tired of doing this, but I sure was content with the feel. It wasn't long until she lined up the heating rocks along my back. The intense heat caught me off guard considering how drowsy I was, but I reminded myself it was just stones. I didn't know what she was doing back there, but I think she used them, pressing and rotating them against my back; I got used to the heat, knowing the emotional heat I was personally feeling could not be surpassed.

After a while of thinking out more questions about her, I asked, "Have any other part-time jobs or something?"

_Maybe I could stop by and say hi._

"Yeah," she replied thoughtfully, "I work as a bartender at _KK's Klub_. You can also catch me at the shoe store, _Soulier,_ downtown near New Eden Mall."

"Busy girl. Surprised you don't get your own massages."

She gave a thoughtful "hm". "Yeah, I could use it."

Ten minutes later, I asked lackadaisically, "Wanna go to Fye some time? I know an acquaintance there who could cut us some slack and sell us some cheaper albums."

She paused, before I heard a bashful smile in her voice. "That'd be nice. Sure."

"You heard of Lily Allen?"

"Hm? No."

_You've got to be kidding me._

I smiled, though. "Tomorrow, then, Fye? Your call."

There was a long thoughtful silence. I finally sat up, concerned I'd fall asleep from all that drowsy relaxation. I tentatively glanced over my shoulders at Nahlah's face, while my mind steamed at me: _There you go, making friends again._

Nahlah had been silent because she was writing it in her notebook of things to do or remember. Then, she snapped it shut, tossed her pencil like it was garbage, and beamed at me.

"Sure thing. Eleven o'clock?" she suggested carefreely.

I gave an awkward, yet content smile. "Perfect."

It _was_. Everything, now, was perfect.


	9. Ropeburn

Chapter 9:

Ropeburn

I was back at Drake's by 9:00 that same night. The next morning, I told him I was going to meet a friend. This time, he was dead serious, and stopped me for a chat.

"Here." He pushed a plate of peanut-butter and jelly toward me.

I cocked an eyebrow at him, impatient. "_Really_, Drake?"

His mouth was a slit of indignation, yet disconcerted. "Cel, what's going on?"

"I'm just meeting a friend. We're meeting at the mall on Blake Street—what's it called—?"

"Blake University Mall?"

"Yeah, BUM." I chortled at the spelling of the mall's initials. "Yeah, _bum_."

Drake's eyes were solid on me. I glared back.

"Do you wanna meet her? You can if you'd like, but I don't think you'd personally like to join our shopping," I offered bitterly.

Drake sighed. "Do I have the permission to monitor you?"

I exhaled, vexed. "Are you Mommy next to Daddy Merc?"

"Don't give me that house title shit, Celeste. Pope's murder has increased tension between our Runners and the Blues. The Blues assume one of our Runners—that being Faith—was involved with the murder, seeing that her sister has been accused. We need as many Runners within safe reach as much as possible, Cel. C'mon, enough of your cynical selfishness, wake up."

I was _not_ going to let this Tracker get in the way of my day's plans . . . because technically, I didn't work for him anymore. The only benefit I got from "working" for him was the extra money since he paid me, even though I was loaded thanks to Project Icarus.

I folded my arms, throwing steel glances. Then, defeated, I sighed. "What do you have for me, today?"

"I have nothing," he pointed out. "What I'm trying to say to you is how dangerous it is out there."

I gestured outside. "Merc has _Faith_ running out there tracking down that Jacknife—and _I_ can't Run? It's what I do, it's what you _hired_ me for, Drake."

He sighed, squishing his face into his fingers in total stress. "Cel, please. With you being gone so much, we're afraid any moment those blackheads will get you."

"I'm your top Runner next to Faith, what are you concerned about?" I boasted with a crooked smile.

"Top girl with excessive bragging rights," he mumbled sarcastically.

"Can I go see my friend, please?"

"Wow, the more you're with this friend of yours, the more you're mingling with the 'normal' people down there," he said, bewildered. ". . . Anyway, Faith found Jacknife. According to Jacknife and Merc's following research, results led to a man named Ropeburn. He was head of Pope's security. We suspect he knows of Pope's murder—_he_ could be the killer."

"Thanks for the bonus," I said, as I left him.

Just as I was reaching Blake University Mall, Loraine hissed into my ear: "VANITY, you heard him, go find Ropeburn! Do you have _any_ idea what this means?"

"Didn't you say paying him would silence him from tagging me with the blame?"

"Yes, but just in case—go and watch him from a safe distance. Kill Ropeburn at all costs if he gets suspicious—RUN!"

"What? I have a meeting—"

"The only meetings for you are with Project Icarus and its missions. Go find Ropeburn, _now_. He's talking with Lieutenant Millar, the militant superior of Faith's sister. I dunno what that's all about, but it's Ropeburn we're concerned with. GO."

"What if I'm seen?"

"If anyone sees you, we'll send Greed and Kick for personal back-up. Bullet will reinforce with the SWAT support and Blues if things go bad."

"Do me a favor, then!" I gasped, tilting into full speed, my moment of glory and freedom. "Phone the Fye store at Blake University Mall. A girl named Ari should pick up—she'll tell my friend I'll be running late—"

"What's your friend's name? _Wait_, who is she, you haven't mentioned her at all to us."

I stopped myself from talking. I personally thought about it—Nahlah was the one name I didn't want involved in my line of work at all. Loraine was nagging me, demanding I'd tell, to which I ignored. I made my decision, there, as I skimmed the rooftops, that I would not mention Nahlah at all.

"Forget it. She'll forgive me," I grunted in frustration and regret.

_Sorry, Nahlah._

"Okay, whatever, just get to Ropeburn. I'll guide you on your way."

The closer I got, the more complicated I felt things were. Was this really that bad? Would the thug really chicken out and rat me out? And what was with him talking to Lieutenant Miller, anyway? All I knew was that it all connected with Pope's murder—and me, the murderer.

"According to the profile here I have on Lieutenant Miller," described my boss, "looks like he's from 'the old school'—ya know, back in the days when the police served and protected the public from those who would harm them. I guess with him being close to Kate, he knows she's not capable of Pope's murder. So, I'm assuming he's been trying to see her by talking to Ropeburn, who refused. Miller's probably getting suspicious about the way private security firms are encroaching on the CPF's authority and operating without proper legal oversight."

"Don't blame him," I stated matter-of-factly.

"We had a stealthy Black Neck drop off your attire. You'll find it in a yellow suitcase behind an air vent on the upcoming rooftop. Slip it on you and find Ropeburn," demanded Loraine.

She was in such a frenzy.

"Greed and Kick will be nearby within the perimeter. They'll watch the scenario from a hidden angle while you take him down if forced to."

"Why me? What if whoever is with him traces it back to me, recognizes me later on, and decides to pursue me knowing that I was probably the murderer, seeing that I killed him—_if_ I do kill him, that is?"

"Because you're faster than all of us Black Necks."

"RE-ally?" I snorted doubtfully.

Great, she was using me. I was her cute, trained errand puppy.

"I'm not kidding, Vanity, you were once a Runner. No more questions. Just do it—you know the rooftops more than any trained Black Neck of ours. Hurry."

Tony's voice rained in on our line. "Vanity, Runner alert. She's got your man."

"What? Who is it?" I returned to my route after dressing into my suit, and clambered up rooftops.

Loraine joined again: "See that building on your far right? Go through the door, reach the third floor, and out of that floor's exit you'll be able to get a good aim without being detected. Your white attire is for camouflage against the outside coat of the building. Through the red door, Vanity . . .!"

Reagan's voice pitched in, burdened with wary. "I see the Runner. Shit."

"What is it, Kick?" I demanded, bursting through the red door, elevating to the third floor.

"Be careful not to make noise when you walk out that door, Vanity," admonished Tony. "Because the Runner's your friend, that Faithy girl."

_Shit. Faith._

"You don't have to kill her, Vanity," consoled Loraine. ". . . If it really is that hard for you to kill her, we'll have someone else do it."

"She hasn't _done_ anything," I retorted.

"Not _yet_. But sooner or later, Connors will have it coming. We'll make sure her death isn't on your hands," murmured Loraine, as if trying to keep her composure. Her tone was soft, it made me feel frustrated.

"Well, you lookee here," began Reagan cautiously, interested. "It looks like that puny Eurasian took Ropeburn on. He had her, at first—even threw her off the higher rooftop onto a lower one. But the thug's hanging off the Edge at her mercy."

"Quietly, now, Vanity," crooned Tony. "Open that door quietly, sneak down the stairs to get a close enough range, and fire."

"But I don't _need_ to fire," I began as I creaked the door open, crouching as I took out my gun.

Loraine sounded like she was biting her lip as she said, "I dunno what they're chatting about, but I don't like it—SHIT, Vanity, Connors is offering her hand—that's _bad_."

"SHOOT, Vanity, shoot him!" chorused Tony and Reagan.

I swept down the stair silently, aimed, and locked onto Ropeburn: his massive black-clad silhouette was hanging off the far Edge, and I saw Faith offering her hand.

I knew exactly what that meant.

"Shoot, Vanity!" cried Loraine. "Ropeburn was the coward who obliged to your money offer at gunpoint, and he'll oblige here hanging there—FIRE!"

I fired. Without struggle, Ropeburn let out a cry of agony as he let go and fell. He landed on the cement parking lot below, a halo of dark blood visible from where I stood.

My comrades urged, "RUN."

I whipped around just as Faith looked up and saw me from afar. I sprang back toward the door, disappearing behind it.

"What now? She saw me," I gasped. Crap, this attire wasn't necessary when I was in a sweat.

"Don't worry. She couldn't reach you from over there even if she was as good as you," reassured Loraine. "She won't even have a clue of who you are and where you're going. Don't worry, Vanity. Just head to where you were planning. We'll take it from here—we'll surf all security cameras in the city and blur your face out."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and by the way," marveled Loraine, "can I meet that friend of yours?"

"Some other time, please. It's rather personal. She's my only escape from the world of Project Icarus and the world of Runners."

"I respect that. Sure." Loraine hung on just like that. I wondered if she was going to monitor me, nevertheless. The idea was chilling, disrespectful, and annoying.

"Don't worry, Boss Moss won't bother you even with a peek," consoled Tony.

"Go away."

"Awee, c'mon."

"I mean it." With that, I raced to catch up with Nahlah.

--

I jogged into the Fye store. There, Ari saw me from across the room. She was reading a magazine in her tall, spinning stool. When I approached her, she placed her magazine on the counter and looked at me curiously.

"Hey, I got a phone call regarding you," she told me.

"Yeah, I know, that was my friend Raine—" I began, panting. I paused in thought: No _wait_, I told Loraine _not_ to call Nahlah. So who called in for me?

She looked at me strangely. Then, she corrected me: "No, that's not what I heard. She said you'd know who she was. She didn't have your number or your last name, so she couldn't call you on your cell or home or anything."

_Nahlah . . .?_

I gave myself time for three gasps before saying, "Wait, she didn't come here?"

"No. I don't know what she looks like, don't ask me," said Ari with a shrug, wagging her hands before herself as if defensively. "She said her boss called, asking her to fill in someone else's shift for an hour or so. She apologizes."

I looked at her, then sighed. I leaned against the counter, exhaling.

"Hey, move aside, Cel, customers." Ari's hand gently pushed my head sideways from behind. I apologized to the man in front of me, who waited patiently. I removed myself from the counter, scaling the aisles for Lily Allen.

I didn't see any, so I decided to leave. By then, Ari was done with customers at the moment and shouted after me, "Hey, leaving so soon?"

"Yeah. It turns out we were both distracted," I noted more to myself than to Ari.

"I thought we were gonna have a date?"

I gave her a grin, turning around. "Sorry. Not today," I lied.

Ari shrugged. "No, it's fine. Some other time, I guess."

"Yeah, sorry."

"No, that's fine. See ya around, Cel." Just as I turned around to walk, she halted me: "Oh wait, what were you looking for?"

"Lily Allen. Last time I was here, her albums were available."

"They're coming in a few days, sorry," apologized Ari, smiling weakly. "I'll let you know when they come. But I thought you already had all her albums?"

"Stalking me?" I joked. "Well, I was hoping to have my friend check out her music."

"I'll reserve some albums for you, then?"

"That'd be great, thanks, Ari."

"Yeah, any time." She threw me a peace sign with her fingers. "See ya!"

"Thanks, Ari. Bye."

I dragged myself out, somewhat relieved, but disappointed that our first meeting was cancelled due to our own personal distractions. I wished I had a cell phone, now, but being a Runner had its limits. I wondered at that moment where Nahlah could be right now. Then, I thought about the places she worked out: Soulier and KK's Klub. I decided to run by and see if she was around. Personally, I had nothing to worry about with Ropeburn dead; Loraine promised that my trail would be cleaned up from Faith.

This time, it was Pepper who homed in on my comms. "So, I hear you had to cancel out on a date?"

"Not a date." I flared my nostrils in irritation by her invasion. "Not that it matters anymore. Hey, you're not watching me, are you?"

"Of course we are. We've got to protect you," pointed out Pepper sternly. "Since Ropeburn's murder, we're for certain that Runner friend of yours will be searching the place for you. She's a determined girl; Raine told us about how that cop was Connor's sister. That sucks."

"Yeah," I sighed. "But it's not my fault. I didn't know she had a sister and that her sister was the cop. Could you stop bothering me, now? I'm having a hard time figuring out which job is more time-consuming: Project Icarus or Running."

"You know the answer. Project Icarus is the one giving you the money, the massages, the relaxation, the love life."

My reaction to those last words were delayed. I snapped at her: "I _said_ it wasn't a date. It's just a friend—for your information, it's a _girl_, not a guy."

That convinced her. "Heh, for a moment I seriously thought you were getting the romantic benefits since joining Project Icarus. Running never gave you that chance, now did it?"

I didn't say anything.

"What are you doing anyway?" she probed casually.

"What are you trying to do, converse talk? I'd prefer you leave me alone," I growled.

I heard echoes of clicking. Pepper was probably toying with a mouse, along with the keyboard. She was looking up something: "Hm, your profile doesn't say anything about you having any close friends besides your Runner pals. This friend new?"

"You're _really_ pissing me off."

"We need to monitor you so you Connors doesn't find you. We can't afford that, especially since it's _you_ who betrayed her."

Those words sounded cold. "Don't point that at me, you wanted me to join."

"What _are_ we arguing about, anyway? You joined on _your_ decision. No one's to blame: you wanted a new, relaxing life, we wanted a new Black Neck. We both got what we want. Besides, you don't care about whether you betrayed the Runners or not. It was all about you, right?"

"I'm going now. I've had enough for one day, I'm going to keep it low," I warned.

"Fine."

"Stop spying on me, too."

"Hey, for all we know, you're probably playing double-agent on us, Vanity."

I snorted. "Later, Bullet."

"Hey," she said hurriedly. "Meet Greed at the north water tower. He'll lead you to the HQ of Project Icarus."

"What for?"

"You'll be training us, along with other PKs. See ya there." She hung up just like that, without waiting for my consent.

I knew she was going to monitor me, still. Keeping that in check, I decided to slow down for once. I didn't run, knowing the Blues couldn't bother me with Project Icarus protecting me. The thought was annoying like fingernails against a chalk board: if I ever ended up cooperating with them, I'd shoot them myself.

Once I reached the main streets, I decided to stroll around in search for Soulier and KK'S Klub. However, I told myself I couldn't allow Nahlah to see and recognize me, nor I vice-versa. I didn't want Project Icarus knowing at all that I had a friend. It would risk things, whether Project Icarus or any other obscure forces were the threat. Right now, Nahlah was the only thing that made me feel like I could hide something from the world. She was my private world, even if she was just an hour of solitude.

It was crazy to think that way already about someone I barely became friends with. However, I saw her as my only chance of a normal life—don't get me wrong, I loved the Edge, but Runners had to sit on the Edge sometimes, you know?

Walking felt great, anyway. It was still freedom of muscle and motion, only slower. I took in another cerulean day swollen with bright sunlight. Once again, the city was a massive mirror of sunlight reflections. The crowds were busy, normal, and ignorant as usual. I carved the streets in search for Nahlah's stores, looking at directional signs every now and then.

Just then, Merc's voice cracked in: "Geez, what _are_ you doing these days, Cel? Have you really been lured by the traps of this city's glamour?"

I sighed, frowning. "I was with my friend, Merc."

"Who is this friend, Cel? A guy? C'mon, you know how dangerous that is. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Just a girl, a mere acquaintance, Merc."

"Acquaintances become friends when you're with them nearly every day," he retorted suspiciously. Then, there was a long spill of his haggard sighs. He pleaded wearily, "Cel, could you just come home? So we know you're fine?"

"_Now_?" I groaned reluctantly.

"Yeah, now," he finished in a loud demand.

"Gimme ten minutes, Merc?" I pleaded sincerely yet calmly.

". . . Hurry up. You're really pissing my pants, here."

"Will do. Thanks, Merc."

I realized the best thing about Project Icarus was that it didn't mind me talking with my former employers. Even if I tried, they could home in and eavesdrop, but I knew it was to make sure the Runners weren't getting suspicious of me. I knew it also was so they could keep an eye on me in case I was playing double-agent. That was impossible: they were my only access to Nahlah. Being on the enemy's side meant they couldn't possibly do anything to Nahlah, seeing that as long as I wasn't a threat to them.

Within five minutes I found KK's Klub, but Nahlah wasn't there. I asked a male bartender if he knew exactly the location of Soulier. Being a friend of Nahlah's, he pointed me south. "It's quite a walk," he told me. I was willing to take that "walk", though. Thanking him, I left in a hurry, hoping I didn't lose her since he added that she was out of _Soulier_ by two in the afternoon.

I dashed under the blue sky; it was an infinite layer stretching ahead of me as I shadowed its vastness across rooftops. Within another five minutes, I was able to locate Soulier. I saw the small black sign, its title in red fancy cursive with a black high-heel shoe as its icon. If I didn't know the name, I would have never found her, the sign was so small.

Surrendering to the cement streets once more, I walked out an alley nearby to lower my heart rate and to hide the fact that I had been Running. It was a three-minute walk, enough time to slow my panting and heaving chest. I walked by the store, glancing through the glossy windows at the shoes, as if fascinated. I quickly shot a glance through the doorway, and right there on the other side of the room across from me, was Nahlah at the counter. She was on a computer or something. I paused, distracted by my thoughts on how to approach her again.

Nahlah looked up. I peeled away.

_Shit_. I had been hoping she didn't see me; I just wanted to know that she was fine.

As I walked on in quicker pace, I heard footsteps behind me, that of quick, eager taps. I didn't need to turn to see that it was her. They sounded so eager, yet confused and lost.

"Hey . . .?"

I kept walking, pushing my way through the crowds. The synchronization of the crowd's footsteps was sliced by her increasing footsteps.

A hand grappled my wrist, forcing me to turn.

"_Hey_," she repeated more forcefully.

I blinked, looking at her.

_"Hey,"_ she asked, puzzled. Her pale blue eyes burned brighter than the sun at me.

I didn't want to say anything to her, afraid I was going to say something to upset her, scare her away, or encourage her. I also Pepper would be listening, so I gave her a solid look, searching her features and her eyes. Whatever face I was stressing, she was utterly perplexed.

I turned around and kept walking, praying she'd stop pursuit.

When thirty seconds elapsed slowly, I knew I had left her baffled and alone.

In my ear, Pepper declared, "Hey, isn't that that girl from Spa&Soul? She gave you your massage, right?"

My tone was flat, yet shocked. "What, really? No wonder she approached me."

"So that's what that was all about," marveled Pepper in understanding. "She must've recognized you and wanted to say hi."

I didn't want to talk about Nahlah anymore. Just discussing her would give her and my secret relationship away; I was so edgy that my tone or pauses for thinking would expose me. Instead, I condemned Pepper: "You said you wouldn't monitor me."

"And you believed me?" she stated monotonously. "I already told you, for your own safety we monitor you. But, with that aside, make sure you meet Greed at the water tower."

"When?"  
"Just some time tonight, like, five or six. Right now, you should return to your Runners, so they don't get suspicious."

"Ya know, to be honest, I think they're growing worried." I started receding into a random post office building. As I climbed the flights of stairs, I made it out a window where no one really saw me onto a fire escape. From there, I started leaping toward Merc's lair.

"Of course," replied Pepper. She was typing again. "For now, just go console your Runners. We'll be waiting at six or seven. Training will be for an hour and a half."

She hung up on me. I surrendered to the warm breeze and let it carry me to Merc's.


	10. Tension

Chapter 10:

Tension

Later that same night I searched for Nahlah. She wasn't at Soulier nor at Spa&Soul_._ I seriously started considering memorizing her work schedule, but knew that was stalkerish of me to do. I couldn't help it, though. She was like a new habit I stumbled upon: fun and addictive to marvel about and explore.

I really liked KK's Klub. Once you slid through the entrance, it led to an inside balcony and spiral staircase. I overlooked a huge dance floor with an enclosed square-shaped bar at its center. People were scattered here and there in their chatting, drinking groups. A small stage presented a singer and her band.

I descended the spiral staircase, slipping shyly into the maze of citizens. I wasn't really used to being in such a huge crowd, especially when I felt enclosed, slow, and vulnerable. Jostling by dancers and couples were awkward, but I had to adjust in order to feel normal and appear normal.

Cutting through the crowd cautiously and studiously, I looked toward the bar.

Nahlah wasn't there, just a guy and two other female bartenders. It was a busy night. Customers flooded the bar stools. A group of friends chanted and cheered on two competitors drowning themselves in alcoholic beverages.

I turned around, eyes searching heavily and darkly through the cushioned atmosphere of sweat, liquor, and heat. Feeling out of place, I stood near a couple of girls, folded my arms uncomfortably, and stood there as I attempted to listen to the band.

You'd think by now I had adapted to the rich life and would socialize and make new friends in this new life. But Project Icarus was a job, not a life. I still felt misplaced. It was a free feeling, yet still restraining and burdening as if I was a sin standing there.

I couldn't take it anymore. I figured maybe if I asked around someone was bound to know a girl named Nahlah.

Returning to the bar, I asked a coffee-skinned guy for Nahlah. He nodded, turned, and hollered over the blasting music, "Hey, Na-Na!"

Cute.

No wait, SHIT. I froze, caught off guard. I was seriously anticipating a "No, she's not on duty today. At home". Instead, my eyes reluctantly yet intently followed his voice to the brunette dancing with some friends.

Nahlah's back was turned, but she looked over her shoulders at her co-worker, then saw me. Though nobody could see or hear, I felt my swallow was loud and obvious. The moment our eyes locked, I looked away, not knowing how to face her, but I looked back and she was already walking toward me.

"Hey," she howled over the music, a wine glass in her hand.

Damn, standing right there in front of me, as if we were old-time best friends. One elbow was cocked on the bar counter, while the other held her wine glass. She took a huge sip and smiled at me. Was she drunk?

I blinked, unable to feel anything, specifically my vocal chords. Finally, four seconds after she initiated the greeting, I smiled weakly. "Heyyy . . ."

"What are you doing here?" she bellowed again.

Before I could answer, she excused the question with a wave of her hand, planted her drink on the counter as if it was garbage, and pulled me along as we left the borders of booming reality. It surprised me that she left her shift just like that. It happened so fast, yet in a slow-motion blur as I tried to recollect myself; we climbed the spiral staircase and left, out into the open, predatory night.

It was warm. Actually, perfect.

We faced each other; I stuffed my thumbs into my pockets, shoulders propped up as they protectively tucked my head as it leaned to the side, looking away. She was just as quiet in thought as me as we kind of stood there.

Finally, she spoke, "So . . . Look, I'm really sorry about all that . . ."

I looked at her speechlessly, noticing that she was not drunk, or not to the extreme.

At that, she looked at the street next to us, few glowing cars passing.

". . . Canceling our meeting," she continued in a swaying, uncertain, timid tone. "I'm really sorry. Were you mad—I mean, when I tried to stop you earlier in the streets, you kinda gave this look . . ."

I looked at her, unable to speak. To this, she stared at me as if something was wrong with me.

". . . Are you okay?" she began timidly, but I shook my head and smiled.

"No, no . . ." I began in a whispered manner.

"Huh—?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I'm good—I'm fine," I corrected her with a wave of my hand. Exhaling, I added, "No, I wasn't mad, I mean."

She nodded, looking at me with understanding, but still as if she was afraid of me. She stroked the nape of her neck, coffee-colored skin rummaging through the thick curtains of her wavy hair. My eyes trailed every movement in that split second of a moment. When she looked at me again, I had to figure out the next thing to say, but she interrupted:

". . . Then, what was yesterday all about?" she murmured, as if strictly forbidden to speak aloud.

I looked at her. "No, that was . . . I dunno, it's complicated. Just, I don't know, I mean—just, I'm sorry. I . . ."

My scrambling words were having World War 3 in my head as I tried to sort them. Shortly after my pause, I gestured to the sidewalk: "Do you . . . um, just wanna walk?"

This sudden spark of light flashed in her eyes, her face seeming to spring to life. That split second faded as she bobbed her head softly to the bar. "I've got to work."

Was she ditching me? Wasn't she just dancing?

I was going to speak, but I couldn't, and even before I could try she said, "But I'll go and ask Farid to fill me in. Just for fifteen minutes?"

"How about a half an hour?" I blurted the moment she began to walk inside.

She halted, looked at me, gave it a second's thought, then, smiled slowly but genuinely. "Yeah. Sure thing, yeah."

She slipped in with such timid grace, I found myself staring after her. She was such a maiden. I leaned against the brick building, folded my arms, and stared into thought with disbelief yet excitement. To lock this stirring excitement, I paced a few random circles where I stood, hands on my hips, impatient, yet satisfied.

Nahlah returned, smiling. "Ready? Uh, I, uh, brought you a coat—are you cold?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm good. You can just toss it."

She gave me an illegible expression, then insisted, "I'll bring it, just in case."

_What about you—?_ "What about you?" I blurted, eyes shifting from the coat to her in a tight, black short-sleeved T-Shirt with a rosy scarf dangling from her neck. I also spied her black pants and ankle-exposing flat shoes. It was such a random party attire, but I didn't mind. It suited her.

"Who knows, I might use it," she answered.

We then looked at each other questioningly, completely clueless. What was the next step, a step? We gave another exchange of awkward smiles before joining each other side-by-side as we progressed down the lamp-lit sidewalk. I wordlessly stuffed my hands into my jean pockets, while she clutched her coat wordlessly.

Two minutes passed, until she finally asked, "So, what _was_ that all about, then?"

Dammit, couldn't she just drop it? I shoulda formed an explanation way before ignoring her when she saw me yesterday.

"I . . . I dunno." I shrugged countless times, digging my hands deeper into my pockets as if my fingernails were hoping to dig a hole into the earth so I could disappear. "I . . . guess I freaked."

There was an obvious, piercing pause as she looked at me. Then, she busied herself by hypnotizing herself at the cracks in the sidewalk. ". . . Why?"

"I dunno, I . . ."

She chuckled, but grew serious again. I could see the concern and fighting need to understand me glowing in her eyes as I snuck a glance sideways.

"Did I do something wrong? You sure you weren't really upset that I cancelled?" she pushed.

I had to say something. I didn't want to spend our only half an hour with her prodding me with meaningless questions.

"Don't worry about it," I told her, choking up courage. "Because I had to cancel, too."

She turned to me. Our pace was slower than ever. "What, you too?"

I shrugged apologetically. "Yeah, sorry."

Nahlah looked away. "That's a relief."

I looked at her, silent.

"I was worried I had you waiting there. I'm really sorry, Celeste."

I just stared; God, I had to stop it. I shook my head out of it, insisting, "No, it's fine. I told you, I had to cancel too. Our stupid jobs, huh?"

We chuckled together. I noticed how our bodies were more in tune with each other; we were tilting more to each other as we engaged into better conversation, though our hands were still sheepishly dug somewhere. She clung to the coat like it was her only protection, while I seriously thought I stabbed holes into my pockets.

"Now you answer me something," I commanded after a long period of thought.

She willingly stared at me, observing my every eye movement, expression, motion of lips, my tucked hands.

"What was that massage appointment all about?" I demanded softly, pinned with deadly, irking curiosity.

Silence, again. Then, she admitted, "It made sense, didn't it? If we were to hang out more often, I mean."

She pushed our appointment to last in line so we were never interrupted by the next appointment? I got it, now. The scheme was silly and playful. Separately, Nahlah and I looked away with restrained, timid smiles.

We turned around. Nahlah announced, "We gotta go. Half an hour's up."

I stared in disbelief, nearly yawning. "This is a late shift for you."

"I'm used to it," she said. "It's rewarding, though."

She smiled at me, to which I returned thankfully and even more sheepishly. As we continued walking, the already playing memory of our exchange of smiles gave me the happy shivers.

"Cold?" asked Nahlah, looking at me.

The mysterious excitement quivered my heart; I refused her offer, but she already wrapped her fur-hooded coat around my shoulders. The very thought of her hands on my shoulders as she secured the coat tightly against my skin brought me back to our first massage. The rest of our walk back was heavy with silence, but a warm one. Once we reached the entrance to KK's Klub, we stood face-to-face.

"Here's your coat," I said gratefully, sliding it off cautiously as if it was sacramental.

She took it, then asked, "How about tomorrow?"

I thought about it, then shook my head with an apologetic, yet bright smile. "Sorry, busy. Got a massage appointment tomorrow at three."

Her answer was in total shocked silence. She blinked and stared. Then, I could see her face gradually absorbing my words, features softening, making me involuntarily think of soft heavenly light filling a room. She smiled, and nodded in total understanding.

I added, "How about . . . something in the evening?"

She played along, still delivering nervous smiles. "Sorry, busy. I'm going out for dinner at Radio Beam around 7:00. They got a concert or something, I don't want to miss it."

I found myself staring, but nodded quickly to excuse it. "Sure, sure."

"Okay. See ya some other time?" Her tone was playful, yet serious.

"Yeah."

"Ok, well . . ."

She looked at the entrance tentatively. Her feet began to shuffle lazily and reluctantly through the door. Next, she paused and looked at me. My arm was supported lazily against the wall while I casually leaned with it; I had been studying her bright eyes, the way they lit up at certain emotional points; how her thin, wide lips parted or tightened whether she wanted say something or not; the beautiful flex of her steep-planed cheeks as they strained nervously.

She caught me looking the moment I caught her looking, then smiled, thanked me, and walked through the door.

--

I slept at Merc's lair again for that same night. When I awoke, he was talking to Drake over their online communicators. Apparently, they had sighted "the white assassin", otherwise known as Reagan. I cursed to myself, knowing I'd be greeted horribly when I'd see the Black Necks.

"Hey, Cel," he greeted hurriedly. He clattered away on the keyboards; I heard beeping, popping, and clicking sounds from the screen.

"What's happening?" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"Pope's killer was seen. I'm sending Kreeg and some other of Drake's Runners after him."

"Him". I nearly grinned, but smothered it with a frown. "I thought you were limiting the number of Runners you were sending."

I looked at the computer. There was Reagan, showing off her fleeing abilities at top-notched speed.

"Well, the more Runners against this one guy, the better," he said through a raspy sigh. "I'm keeping you here, though."

"Why me? Isn't _Faith_ out there, more endangered than all of your Runners?"

"Faith is Faith, I can't stop her," argued Merc. Concern, however, creased his brow. "That kid really scares me shitless. I dunno what to do; the best I can do is guide her."

"I can't help with you imprisoning me here," I told him.

_Besides, I have plans with Nahlah._

"You're not going to help," he affirmed low and coldly, "You're only going to help when Faith needs it the most. You're the only person we both can rely on at times of need; you and Faith are our topnotched Runners, after all."

I analyzed him mutely for a while. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Trying to find out more of where she can find the white assassin," explained Merc. "She headed to Team Shard's place."

"The Shard Sisters?" I burst, wide-eyed. I haven't heard from our tattooists for a long time. "What would they know about the white assassin?"

"You forget Miku and Miho used to be Runners, some time before I actually met Faith." Merc grinned to himself. "Remember? Like Faith's parents, theirs died in the protests for Pope's campaign. So, they gave up being Runners and became tattooists for our Runners. It was the least they could do for abandoning their fellow Runners. You knew them—well, at least, over communicators—but Faith didn't by the time she was an official Runner. I didn't tell her about them until now because I wanted to keep their ex-Runner profiles low, in case of threats by the Blues or something. No one knows they were once Runners, except you, Drake, me, and Faith."

"Faith's going to them for _what_, though?"

"They knew the city blindfolded," he elucidated, still typing. "They would know anywhere."

"I thought you Trackers knew your maps," I reminded him with a jesting sneer.

"We do, but Runners have more knowledge than their Trackers considering they actually do the scoping around." Merc sighed, leaning back into his chair. "I dunno what exactly Faith is asking them, but I'm sure it's to locate a place even I don't have my hands on."

I pondered silently with him, stressed by the thought. Faith was a sneaky Runner who knew how to get to places and definitely knew how to get the information she needed. It was her skill, her style, her living.

I had to stop her.

I was sure the Black Necks heard our conversation and understood the priotority to stop Faith Connors, so I decided not to bother telling them so.

I stretched. "I'm going out for a morning coffee," I declared, stifling a yawn.

Merc spun around his chair as his glare followed me. "What did I _just_ say? You're _staying_."

"Think about it, Merc," I said with a cocky tilt of my head. "Your Runners are pinning down that white assassin, whose comrades, I'm sure, are exerting all energy on. They won't focus on me; I'll be a casual pedestrian in the crowds down below. They won't bother making a fuss down _there_."

"Since when were you living 'low'?" He arched an eyebrow at me, staring studiously.

"My friend. She's taught me well." I smirked.

"I don't like that smirk, Cel."

"Learn to, cuz I just want my coffee, Merc." I adjusted my comms on. "Besides, how are you ever gonna get your pizza if you don't send your Runners out?"

He only shot a lean glare. "Celeste, may I meet this friend of yours? That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

What a _daddy_. I gave an exaggerated exhale. "Fine, tag along. But what if Faith's situations come up?"

"We still have Drake," he said. "Besides, I just wanna meet your friend briefly. Then, I'll ditch."

"Kay, Merc." I walked below our entrance. "When I meet her today at 3:00, you can tag along. Just don't embarrass me," I finished with a goofy grin.

He grinned, but a serious frown hid behind it. "Get your coffee," he said. "_Quickly_. I have to help Faith, now."

When I left, Pepper and Loraine broke in.

"Don't worry about the Shard Sisters. We'll send Jacknife after these Shard Sisters," proclaimed Loraine feverishly. "He'll get the Blues on them."

"Jacknife?"

Why did that sound familiar—?

"You're on terms with Jacknife!? Doesn't Faith know him personally?"

"The Runners don't know, but Jacknife is kind of a neutral messenger between Project Icarus and the Runners. Ya never know what he'll do. I guess it depends on the money. Is that a problem?"

"No, I'm just shocked that this whole time he was on agreeing terms with Project Icarus," I returned.

Pepper blew the subject off. "Do you know where Team Shard's shop is, Vanity?"

I was running, panting slightly. "Yeah. It's on Palm Lane, called Ink Head."

"Funny name, but suits a tattoo shop," commented Loraine.

"What are you doing now, Vanity?" probed Pepper. She sounded like she was clattering away on research. "Gonna hunt down that friend of yours?"

"No, I wanted coffee, that's all," I told them roughly.

"And don't worry about Faith Connors. We're working on getting her. After your coffee, we need you down at headquarters."

"_What_—why? For how long?"

"Training," summarized Pepper.

"You Black Necks are pathetic," I snorted.

"Hurry up with that damn caffeine and high-tail over here," muttered Pepper. Was she in a bad mood or something?

Loraine, the mind reader, answered, "Reagan's being a bitch to us. Ya know the story for today."

"Yeah, you sent her out as me _again_. Way to go," I protested, jumping rooftops. "She's gonna bitch at me the most."

"She stole my favorite donuts at breakfast this morning," muttered Pepper, again.

"She's not a morning person?" I chortled.

"Neither am I," burst Pepper in such a low tone, "especially when it comes down to stealing my donuts."

"Wow," I mused. Ignoring the comments, I hit the bottom streets and started walking toward the closest bakery I could find. "Well, I'm getting coffee, want me to pick up some donuts?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Hurry, Vanity," urged Loraine. "Training is valuable at this time, now. And we just dispatched Jacknife's team. They're heading for Ink Head."

My heart stumbled. _Maybe I won't have to face Faith ever again._ It was a relieving thought, a burden off my suffocated heart.

After grabbing coffee and donuts, I rushed to headquarters. There, Pepper greeted me gratefully as she took the donuts while Loraine urged intense training. She and the Black Necks got their training, all right.

After ten minutes of hardcore training, I gave the Black Necks a break. I realized it had been quiet. "It's so peaceful, where's Tony?"

Loraine jeered. "What? Miss him?"

I glared.

"He's ensuring Reagan makes it back safe being you," answered Pepper.

Loraine and I watched after her as she walked to her donuts sitting near the entry. "Those are bad for you, Pep," began the boss.

Pepper waved her words away, savoring the moment as she bit into a cinnamon donut. "Once in a while you gotta savor the things you love," she told us, wiping her mouth with the napkins I picked up.

"Someone's gonna be crying 'donuts!' during training," chuckled a Black Neck. Everyone laughed, getting the joke. Pepper ignored it, finishing the single donut. It was hard to take the quiet and serious woman seriously when she ate donuts.

Later into the training, two Black Necks paced in: Reagan was punching Tony briefly in the ribs.

"That was the _last_ time, Loraine!" she hollered, stepping up to the boss. "I'm sick of playing that bitch. Why protect _her_ ass? She hasn't done anything yet to endanger herself, yet here I am running races for her! Not ALL Blues are on Callaghan's side! Merc's been receiving backup from Blues who were familiar with Kate Connors, all provided by Lietenant Miller, Kate's superior. We're losing the upper hand, here."

Tony tried placating her. "Keep it down, Ray, the place echoes."

She smacked his raised hands away.

"Meow," returned Tony, offended. "What's with you? Jealous, or something?"

Reagan glared at him, trying to keep her cool. She folded her arms freshly and firmly, eyes flaring with an eerie flash.

"Once again, not my fault you guys wanted me," I pointed out.

"We never agreed that involving her would mean bringing _me_ down with the threats she receives!" growled Reagan. "We hired her so she could do the stuff for us—but _I'm_ doing all of that!"

Tony interrupted Reagan's tirade, looking to us. "She's just upset. Merc's Runners nearly got her again; he's been sending more. When she lost them, she and I joined Jacknife's team to put Team Shard under custody. But they weren't there."

Loraine and I stared. "What? They weren't at Ink Head?" urged Loraine. "You sure they weren't on break or if it was a day off?"

"With the search warrant granted," explained Tony, poking the middle of his forehead intensely with a finger, "we searched the shop. We couldn't find anything that traced back to where their residence is. We even checked the phone directory, but that only provides the shop's phone number and address, nothing else. What's their last name, Celeste?"

He turned to me. I shrugged. "I knew nothing of them besides the fact that they were once Runners. We called them Team Shard cuz it was catchy. I don't know their real last name."

"Did you ever meet them personally—so we can identify them?" pleaded Loraine.

I stared into thought, then shook my head. "No. To be honest, no, I haven't. I've only talked to them over our communicators."

"Shit," whispered Tony and Loraine.

"You don't know their last names?" prodded Pepper.

"They're sisters, that's the best I can provide," I described. I turned to Tony and Reagan: "Did you ask around? There can't be many people with the names Miku and Miho."

"It's just them that run the shop, apparently. They don't hire employees or anything. No co-workers. And they're probably under a completey different identification." Tony shook his head in disappointment.

"Fuck that," hissed Reagan stormily. "That was _it_. No more incognito. I'm not Celeste Post."

"Thank god," chortled Tony.

Even I laughed as everyone agreed heartily. Reagan fired a look at her boss, but Loraine gave her a bossy shake of the head, of disapproval and discontent.

"Figure out the company that approved and supported their shop," I suggested after it quieted down.

"Damn, I really hate research homework." Tony folded his thick arms.

"So, what now?" asked Pepper, turning to the boss.

Loraine sighed, cocking a hand on her hip. "See what happens. We'll have the Blues out on a look to see who enters that shop. And as for Faith Connors, be careful, Cel. What are your leisurely plans for today?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Massage. Concert."

Everyone looked at me, while Reagan glared at me then glared away.

"She's on a date, I can tell." Pepper approached me, standing right in front of me. I realized I was a bit taller than her. "Spill it. Who's the lucky fella?"

Tony was by her side in seconds, jeering. Great, more reasons for him to bother me.

I backed up, vexed. "Get it memorized, I'm not on a date. A friend."

"What's her name—you did say it was a she, right?" recalled Pepper, in thought.

"Marissa," I lied instantly. Funny name to think, but it worked at this time of emergency. They were invading my private life.

"She been going to massages with you?" Tony poked me in the ribs; I nearly grabbed his hand to flip him over me. "Can I come along and see her?"

"No."

"Please? Hey, I'm just as tensed as you," complained Tony.

"Clingy," coughed a Black Neck.

"Lovers," coughed another.

This time, Loraine joined me as our heads whipped around to glare at the Black Necks. Then, Loraine turned to me. "By the sounds of it, your massage will be an hour and a half long. And the concert sounds long, too. I take it you'll be unavailable today."

"Yeah . . ."

"Sorry, but I can't let you go to that concert," disapproved Loraine, shaking her head. I stared, pissed already. "Because tonight I have errands for you."

"Screw errands," I growled. "Why always me? What about the others?"

_"No."_ Reagan inched closer, her movement as jagged as her voice. "You will not be the run-away lazy ass that's been interfering with my own life. We hired you, you're gonna work. Loraine had to do a run for you once, and I had to do millions of runs for you just to protect your assy identity. Do your job, Celeste. No more running away. We gave you the rich feel of life, don't screw on us now."

We ended exchanging the longest, curiously loathing stares for about a minute. My whole skin boiled, crawling with every dark urge to lash out.

"Project Icarus has to continue the training of PKs so we can delete all Runners from business, or even existence if we're forced to," said Reagan, calmer after unlocking eyes with me. "Other PKs are working on Callaghan and his ideals, while the rest of us have to concern with suppressing protests that could turn bad. At this climax of tension between supporters for Callaghan and the dead Pope, Runners are especially needed. We need to run them down, flat."

I stared at her wordlessly.

Tony interrupted, once again poking into my life. "C'mon, Cellie, please?"

I rolled my eyes, turning around. "If I showed you Marissa, would you guys stop trying to monitor my private life?"

"You sound so sensitive about your friend," began Loraine, watching after me. "I guess we can cut you some slack. We'll have Tony come along, just to approve of this friend of yours and to make sure she isn't suspicious or anything."

I whipped around. "You think she's suspicious? You haven't even met her!"

"Not yet. But you being private about her is agitating me," admitted Loraine as she stared at me. "Tony will check her out, see if she's fine."

I left.


	11. Feelings

Chapter 11:

Feelings

It was nearly 3:00. Tony and I got dressed into civilian clothing before running off to Spa&Soul. He was annoying me the whole way, joking that he could catch me if he wanted. Strange enough, I accepted his challenge, knowing that street Runners were better than trained dolls.

However, within ten minutes of the chase, he suddenly ran past me, turned, and threw a punch. Confused by his attacks, I dodged, fists already loaded in front of my face. He attempted a kick, but I jumped, then high-kicked him in the face.

"What are you _doing_?" I yelled, realizing how panicked my voice was.

The kick wasn't enough to take him down. Next, he charged at me with another punch attempt. I dodged, then threw my own fist, but he grabbed it and flipped me over. The world spun and flipped as I crashed onto my back, feeling the heavily cemented thud stun me throughout my system. I lay there wincing in pain, eyes closed.

His foot peeled one of my arms outstretched, crushing against my hand.

_Ow—shit._

"Tony—!" I roared.

He leaned down, grinning into my face. With my free hand, I tried to thrust upward to deliver some physical pain, but he caught it.

"DON'T _RAPE_ HER!" invaded Pepper through the communicator.

"What's going on?" I grunted, trying to smack him.

"I win," he declared.

Then, he stood up, grinning, and released my hand. The moment he did, I did a sweeping finish. He was on his back, now, groaning.

"What the _fuck_, Vanity?"

"Next time, it's the balls—your codename should have been Lust," I growled in disgust. I stepped backwards, pissed. "Wanna tell me why you did that?"

"Hey, hey!" He got up slowly. "I told you it was a cat-and-mouse game, didn't you get it? Never played tag, before—are you _that_ much of a virgin?"

I glared. "I'm serious. Now I'm gonna be late for my massage."

"That's all you seem to care about, lately," he grumbled, rubbing his neck, then giving it a crack. He also rolled his shoulder excessively. "_Ow_."

"Ya think?" I snapped. I turned around. "It was as if you were going to rape me."

"I thought so too," sighed Pepper.

"Thanks, Bullet," replied Tony into his communicator.

I turned my anger on Pepper. "Stop watching me. I thought bringing Tony was part of the bargain. You're not playing your part."

"Only until you reach Spa&Soul," assured Pepper. "Then I'll let go of you."

I growled, then, hung up. Without looking at Tony, I sped ahead of him, not wanting to be anywhere near him. The closeness of him sent queer shivers throughout me.

When we reached Spa&Soul_,_ I hissed at him before we entered the door for our appointment. "Behave."

"I'm not your kid, nor your brother," he said flatly, serious for once.

"Then what would you like to be called? My mental patient?"

"Or boyfriend."

I closed my eyes, breathing in and out, just for practice for my massage. I would live through this hellish hour of a second. Once Nahlah gave me my massage, I would be fine.

The door opened, Nahlah beaming at me. However, her eyes showed shock at Tony standing next to me. He offered his usual crooked smile as he waved to her.

"Heyyy."

Nahlah looked at me. "Um, I thought I was serving only one . . .?"

"He tagged along, sorry." Despite my casual voice, Nahlah could see my agitated look. She looked from me to Tony, and back.

"Um, well, Seth is already hooked, but Gregory is free for you, sir," she told him. She widened the door, gesturing us inside.

"What, I can't have you?" said Tony, looking at her in disappointment.

I nearly chuckled. She wore the same irritated yet scared look I probably wore on my face every time Tony was nearby.

Yet, she calmly said, "Sorry, sir. Gregory is willing to use his free time for your massage. That okay?"

"Um . . . but Gregory's a guy, right?" began Tony.

I looked away, trying to lock a grin in.

"Um, how about you just sit down," insisted Nahlah.

"No, no, I don't want a man's hands on my back—I want a chick!" demanded Tony as we sat down in extra chairs. What a brat.

Unsure what to do, Nahlah looked at me, then at Gregory, who was silently exchanging few words every now and then with Seth, who was massaging a man's back. Nahlah folded her arms cutely, an index finger rubbing her temple in thought.

"Uhhh . . . ok. I, um . . ." Nahlah turned to Gregory; I caught a disappointed frown on her face before she turned. "Greg, can you do Ms. Celeste while I do this gentleman? I'm sorry, I know, it's your free time, but . . .?"

Her co-worker nodded silently, shrugging. He began collecting his own massage material. Nahlah turned to me, already afraid of my eyes as I gave her an incomprehensible look. I was completely thrown off; surprised, pissed, and disappointed.

She tried to peel away from my speechless stare as she received our towels. "You can change, then wear this, sir."

"Hold on," I interrupted.

She and Tony looked at me.

I stabbed Tony's chest with a finger. "This was originally my massage, not yours. You're not going to screw my massage up."

"Hey, but you let me come along," he bickered. "Besides, it wasn't about your massage—your friend, Marissa, where is she? Shouldn't she be here by now?"

At his statement, Nahlah, listening quietly, turned to me with her orbs of blue. My glance swept from her eyes to Tony, who was looking at me curiously.  
"_Marissa_?" repeated Nahlah, folding her arms, looking at me with a quiet, soft, yet curious look. "Did you bring a friend along, miss?"

She was utterly confused but didn't show how upset she was as Tony.

"Cellie?" began Tony.

I lowered my eyes from Tony's wolfish, dark expression. "She . . ." I shook my head, sighing. "She cancelled."

Nahlah's face seemed to melt with a soft light in her eyes. Then, her eyes and mine turned to Tony, who scratched his slightly prickly, hairy face.

"Damn. For real? I was hoping to meet her . . ." His voice faded off, until he finally snapped his fingers, eyes lit. "You told her to cancel without me knowing!"

Nahlah and I exchanged secretive looks. I raised an eyebrow at Tony, who was grinning with glee.

"You canceled so _we_ could be together, eh?" He nudged me in the shoulder; I involuntarily took a step away. "You _like_ me, Cel?"

"Not a chance." I glared away, stuffing my hands into my pockets, feeling Nahlah's eyes on me. "I just fucking want my massage."

"No, SERIOUSLY!" He sure was excited. "I'm touched, Cel!"

"Oh, I'll touch you," I growled menacingly.

He frowned. "Ok, ok. Massage. Right. But I want a chick, and apparently," he turned to Nahlah, "you're the only chick available."

"Just because you're her client doesn't mean you can disrespect her," I growled at him. "She's _my_ masseus, that was how it was going to be."

He looked at me, then at Nahlah, who just turned to collect her massage material. Turning back to me, he apologized, "Geez, sorry, Cel."

"Just don't piss me off anymore," I muttered.

Nahlah approached us. "Sir, er, can you leave so she can change?"

Tony's eyes bulged at her solidly, as if she'd just committed a sin. There was a long dramatic pause before he emphasized, "You want me to _leave_ when she's _changing_?"

"What did I _just_ say?" I roared, pushing him out.

From the center of the room, Seth snapped in a whisper, "Nahlah, could your clients be quiet or something?"

I verbally apologized while Nahlah nodded with an apologetic smile. She opened the door I threw Tony out of, telling him about the bathroom I didn't notice in the lounge for changing in. Then, she turned to me.

I gave her an arched look. "Where _do_ I change in _here_?"

I implied the other people in the room.

"We're professionals," she told me, smiling goofily. "We're not perverted."

I rolled my eyes. "OK, fine, but how will I be able to change?"

"Here." She lured me to a corner of the room, then spread out a big white towel and held it against the wall. "Normally, you'd be able to change here without anyone around, but Seth's appointment was made at the last second. Don't mind them, just change behind this towel."

I looked at her, my arms folded uncomfortably; they seemed to tense and stab into my chest. "Um . . ."

"Seth's too occupied with his client, and Greg's getting ready for your friend's massage," she reassured me. She flapped the towel to prove her point. "Hurry, before your friend believes he gave you enough time to change."

She had a point. I rushed behind the towel, and she held it high. However, I was taller than her, so I wasn't sure how she was going to pull it off. I turned around, pulled at the hems of my shirt, and shrugged my shirt off. A bubbly feeling told me she was watching, but it told me to also to calm down because she was going to touch me anyway—

I snapped my head around, looking at her over my shoulder, just fast enough to see that she _had_ been staring. Her eyes slid away, though.

"Hey . . ." I began.

Her eyes continued to paste themselves loyally against a far off wall.

". . . You _are_ giving me my massage, right?" I asked, not sure if we ever clarified that.

Nahlah's eyes were so enthralling. I took this as a chance to study them, before she answered in a whisper, "I think I am. Am I?"

"You'd better."

Her eyes suddenly looked at me, lit up as if shocked by my words.

I reassured her, "Because if you have Tony, he'll be all over you."

Her eyes had been lingering over my exposed back, but they quickly skipped back to me as she pointed out, "Would you prefer that, or him leering at the sight of me touching you?"

I took that into consideration. She was right; I grinned. "Yeah, he's a pervert. Better not let him see us together . . ."

It was frustrating to give in to Tony's demand after all that trying.

I finished removing my bra, then asked, "Where do I put my . . . um, stuff?"

"Um, I'll take them—here." With that, she wrapped the towel around me. An ecstasy of emotions bolted through me like electricity, but I hid it, as her hands went around me to secure and tuck my towel so it wouldn't slip off accidentally. I could have done it myself, but I was too focused on holding my breath as her skin touched mine. Next, her hand traced downward along my hip, to make sure I wasn't exposing anything else.

I went stiff, spine completely tensing. I looked up at the ceiling.

Next, she took my clothes, disposing them on top of the chairs and hiding it with a coat I recognized as hers.

Tony came in just as she was finished. His towel was secured around his waist, showing off the flawless planes of his tight chest, chiseled abdomen, and bulging arm muscles. A ropelike choker I haven't noticed encircled his neck, making it appear thicker. When he saw me staring in shock, he waved, then grinned at me in my towel.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered to myself.

"You know you like it," he said.

Behind me, Nahlah looked from me to Tony. She turned around, greeting him with a smile. "Sir, I'm afraid I have to stick to my clients. If you want your massage now, Gregory will do it."

His face fell stone as he stared from me to Nahlah. "What? I said no dudes!"

Nahlah shrugged. "I'm sorry, but she's the one paying me."

Tony ogled. "_Right_, right."

Wow, he understood already? Did it really take perverted extents to make him comply to what _I_ wanted?

Tony beamed at me goofily. "I get it. You want a girl-on-girl massage, right? Just for me, how sweet of you, Cellie."

I was about to reach out to give a nice shake, but I remembered I had my towel to hold on to. Plus, Nahlah was herding me to my place.

Suddenly, _Seth's_ customer burst from his drowsiness.

"CELESTE!" roared Merc.

_MERC?_

"Whaaa—what THE—!?" I burst, gaping.

_What the FUCK?_

Mercury was Seth's customer! What was he doing here?

Tugging furiously at his towel around his waist, my trainer sat up, planted booming feet onto the rugged floor, and stood there. I felt so naked, I tightened my towel around me, even though it was as tight as it could get; I averted my eyes, couldn't believe I was seeing my trainer in this manner.

_Aweee shit!_ I realized. I had forgotten that I told him he could come and "approve" of my friend! I could see the misintrepreation in his cold glare.

Tony, standing there just as flabbergasted as Nahlah and I and everyone else stared with his jaw dropped. However, before Merc could speak, Tony stormed in front of his face. _Great—oh wait, Tony knows who Merc is,_ I reminded myself. _He should be able to improvise . . . _

"Hey, is there a problem, sir?" barked Tony, shoving Merc in the collarbone.

Merc didn't budge, he just glared.

"You tell me, kid," returned Merc, calm for someone who burst up half-naked.

"Cel, who _is_ this guy?" Tony fired eyes at me.

He already knew the answer; he just was acting to protect his identity as a Black Neck.

Nahlah, without thinking, stepped in front of me protectively to shield me emotionally, mentally, and physically. However, she revealed me a bit so I could talk properly from behind—if you wanted to call hiding from your boss naked in a towel "proper".

"Who is _this_ guy?" interrupted Merc, glaring at me.

_I cannot believe this._

Before I could speak, Merc looked at Tony from head to toe. "What did I tell you, Cel, about men?"

"Oh? So should I date women now?" I said sarcastically, folding my arms with a cocked eyebrow. At that, Nahlah, in front of me, was about to turn to face me but held against it.

"Who are you, her ex or something?" demanded Tony, shoving Merc in the collarbone again.

_Smooth, Tony._ Merc was pretty big compared to Tony. With a teapot as a brain.

I had to think of someway to cover the fact that I knew Merc as my trainer, the fact that I knew Tony as my Black Neck comrade, and the fact that I was here only to be with Nahlah. Utterly smacked in the face with confusion, Seth and Gregory stared in total silence, backing away from the conflict that sounded like a love triangle.

"Who are you? Her new boyfriend—sneaking behind my back like this!" growled Merc, glaring Tony down. It was competition between the eyes, nothing else. Thank god.

Finally, Nahlah looked over her shoulders at me with thousands of questions staring at me, confused.

As Merc and Tony glared at each other, she whispered, "You're . . . bisexual?"

I blinked, speechless.

That "label" really smacked me right in the face; paralyzed me; I stared at her, aghast. Sound and sight blurred out. The feeling of being gutted in the stomach and tazered thousands of times choked the breath and feeling out of me.

Was _this_ the unnamed feeling that had been teasing my mind for days?

_No. Hell no. God, what the hell am I doing here?_

I stared obliviously, swaying a bit: I felt so light, as if drowsy. Heavy and smothered, as if the burden of someone's death hit me like an anchor.

It was one of those hourly seconds, when things were happening so fast, yet felt so wearily long. Like you got into a fight with someone you cared for: long, heavy, exhausting, and dark.

Nahlah turned, squinting with concern. "Celeste?" she whispered, partly in concern for the probably pale state I was in, and partly over her haunting questions.

Nahlah's whispered words were enough to catch everyone's attention. The two half-naked men wheeled their heads at me, the red flushing from their faces fading away like water.

The darkness receded from the frames of my vision. Hazy things became clear again as I awoke. It was another of my hourly seconds, in which I had apparently passed out.

"Cel?"

"Celeste?

"Ms. Celeste—?"

"Call 911—"

"No, DON'T, she's fine—!"

"What'd you SAY, ex—!?"

"Guys, seriously—Celeste!?"

The dizzy, drowsy flutter in my heart sent a weary burden upon my head. It made me feel weak and hazy. I kind of wished to just sleep. But I awoke in arms to whom I couldn't tell.

"Ms. Celeste?" murmured Nahlah. "You with us? Celeste?"

I looked around quietly. A silent softness cushioned around me. That was when I realized I was laid across the massage beds. I curled my still fingers to flex them to life. And realized I was still in my towel.

"Jake?" I murmured, tired.

"Jake?" began Merc, brows furrowing curiously.

"_Jake_," I repeated strongly. I gave a fake, weak look Tony, who finally caught on. _Sorry, Tony, it was the first name that popped to my head._

"I'm here, Cellie," hushed Tony.

"Get out of here," I commanded weakly.

_"What?"_ He blinked before glowering. He shifted closer. "Hell no. We're taking you home—"

"No," I growled, despite my weakness, "I'm fine. Just. Didn't eat."

"You have low blood-sugar?" chorused Merc and Tony, eyes like lasers.

"No, no, I just hadn't eaten breakfast or dinner. Really."

I hope he was catching on, because I couldn't risk Merc trying to figure out who Tony was or where he lived. He would have Runners following Tony to make sure he wasn't threat material.

Before we could converse code talk, Merc cut Tony off. He gave me a stern father look before saying, "Who is this guy, for real, Cel?"

Nahlah, watching carefully, burst out angrily at Merc, "I don't CARE if she was once your girlfriend—she just passed out! _Seriously_, that's the first thing you say to her after recovering?!"

I looked up at her, bewildered like the other two men. Merc sighed, while Tony scratched his head shortly before throwing me an apologetic look.

I rolled my eyes, exhaling, irritated. As I slowly got up—Nahlah and Tony's hands behind me for support—I turned to Merc. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't want you all—ya know . . . look . . . Jake's my . . . boyfriend."

"WHAT?" bellowed both men, while Nahlah's expression appeared frigid in silent observation.

"I told you no, Cel!" Merc exhaled in long frustration. "No, Cel, no!"

"Hey, hey, let my _girlfriend_ decide that," declared Tony abruptly.

Great, Tony liked my little play.

"Get out of here, Merc," I murmured to him quietly and solemnly. "For your own good, just get out of here."

"Outta of here, _ex_," pushed Tony. "I can take care of her, unlike _you_ could apparently."

Merc took one glance at me before sitting up and leaving, grabbing his clothes. He _so_ had a lot of explaining when I got back—but so did I, pretending Merc was my "ex" and Tony my "boyfriend". This was all an act to Merc and Nahlah.

Next, Tony and Nahlah ensured I had balance and control as I sat up. Tony's hand reached for my face tenderly, but I smacked it away. "Knock it off, Tony. That wasn't fun or funny, however you viewed it. Don't go all boyfriend on me."

"But you just said we were," he confirmed, pulling a thread of my blonde hair from my face. "But seriously," he continued tenderly. "I was afraid the others were going to kick my ass if I let anything happen to you."

"Shouldn't you rest?" insisted Nahlah, eyes keen on me.

I shook my head. "I'm good."

"I'll go get you something to eat," proposed Tony, standing up. "What would your orders be, Ms. Celeste?"

Nahlah threw him a stare I felt was unfriendly, as if feeling he was mocking her courteous address to me.

I said, "I dunno. Just, anything, I guess."

He nodded firmly. "Hey, Cel," he began. I looked at him wearily, but intently. "Don't do that. Just a motivation for you so Reagan doesn't bitch."

"Yeah, yeah. Go get me food," I ordered softly, "and put a shirt on."

"Just for you, deary," he teased, winking, then rushed out while tangling his shirt back on.

In all honesty, I didn't think it was the problem of food. That whole scenario that jumped out at me so quickly—and Nahlah's burning question. I seriously felt like 'bisexual' or 'attention' branded my forehead.

There was that feeling again.

I looked up, wondering how Nahlah was taking in all of this. Her eyes jerked away from me, as she joined Seth and Gregory, who were whispering or watching in respectful silence. I could hear them asking her if I was okay and what that was all about. She just shook her head, murmuring something I couldn't catch.

As I sat there in a daze, I was trying to determine what the fainting was really about. Besides that, I also had to fight over an explanation to Nahlah, Tony, and Merc separately. Merc came to see if who I was seeing was suspicious or even suitable for my taste, to better word it; Tony had to become "Jake" just so I could prove how not how big of a deal my private life from Merc was, and to make sure Merc had no idea who Tony was; I had to lie to Tony about a "Marissa" so he didn't suspect it was Nahlah I was slipping away with. As for Nahlah, I had to make up names so she didn't know that I was a Runner for Merc and a comrade of the Black Neck, Tony. All of that I made in front of her was to make it look like Merc and Tony were my every-day lovers fighting over me.

It all already smothered me in weariness and overwhelming stress. And to think joining Project Icarus would make life simpler.

"I'll be back . . ." I had finally returned to reality, hearing Nahlah saying good-bye to her co-workers Seth and Greg. Then, when the room was quiet with only the two of us, she sighed, stuffed her pockets with her hands nervously, and turned to face me.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked softly, as if afraid to break the silence.

"Yeah." I budged an overwhelmed, yet genuine smile.

She looked at me before lowering her eyes on the floor. "Listen . . . I'm sorry I threw that question at you. I shouldn't have assumed anything out of you . . ."

"No, it's fine," I instantly assured her, shaking my head. In all honesty, I didn't want to talk about it, the question of my label. "Seriously, don't worry about it. Just . . . a lot of stress from work."

"Is that was it all really about?" said Nahlah, joining my side as she leaned against the bed next to me. "Or is it your . . . um, those guys? When they fought, did that upset you?"

"Uhh, a little—but only because because my ex, Mark, came in—" I began, nodding, accepting her hypothesis.

"I thought his name was _Merc_," she interjected, giving me a look.

"No, Mark," I fibbed, smiling. "Ya, sorry."

She nodded in silent comprehension, trying to piece the past events together toward to now. Just then, she opened her thin lips to speak, a short, silent breath escaping, before she closed it. Before I could inquire, she began:

"Um . . . so, Mark was your . . . ex, and Jake's your . . .?" she began.

I stared at her, seeing the scared anticipation in her eyes. I pointed out with the shake of my head, "No, no. 'Jake' is not my boyfriend. I only said that to keep Mark away."

She looked at me, confused over why I would do that—but I knew it wasn't just that that drove her to give such an expression.

I explained another series of lies, "Mark's been . . . haunting me, you could say. He was trying to figure out whether or not I was going out with anyone. The only way to get him to leave him was to officially announce that Jake was my boyfriend. But he's not."

"Apparently, 'Jake' doesn't think so," stated Nahlah matter-of-factly with raised eye brows.

Finally, after a couple of seconds, Nahlah stuttered another round of questions: "Who was this Marissa girl?"

I cocked a stealthy smile. "She doesn't exist. Her real name is Nahlah."

The brunette's eyes brightened in shock, but relief. She gave me that "wow" smile, staring. "Oh? And what reasons lay behind that?"

"As you can see," I gestured toward the door, implying Merc and Tony, "those boys like to get into my personal life. I lied to Tony, who wanted to know who my 'friend' was, that being you."

She followed, nodding, smiling goofily and amusingly at my keen situation.

"He wanted to see who 'Marissa' was, thinking it was some special guy or something," I continued. "But then I made that lie up saying 'Marissa' couldn't come—he has no idea I've been talking about you."

Nahlah's face went from somber and hopeless to bright-eyed angel. "So . . .?" she inquired.

"But then Mark came along. He wanted to know who I've been seeing. To make sure neither he or Tony knew it was you, I made up lies about Tony being my boyfriend to Mark, just to kick Mark out feeling hopelessly defeated."

Nahlah couldn't help but laugh, enlightened by my scheming. Afterwards, she sighed. "Man, that is stressing. I understand your fainting, now."

I chuckled along with her, until we accidentally held each other's gaze. I quickly looked away, fiddling and securing with my towel to make sure it was still snugged around me.

Nahlah rubbed the nape of her neck. "Um . . . why . . . won't you tell them about me?"

"With the life I have and the protective boys in it, I'm apparently not allowed to have anyone else to devote my time to," I honestly told her. Her smile widened softly and serenely; I was glad it pleased her. "Honestly, no one, including those boys, always give a damn who I'm with. I just didn't want them knowing I was here all the time. Cuz they would just stalk me until I gave in."

"You brought Tony along, though."

"He wanted to meet 'Marissa', thinking she was actually a guy I've been seeing," I said with a sigh.

Repeating all my lies was making me light-headed again. I rolled my eyes in frustration.

"Well," hesitated Nahlah, "Tony's going to get in the way of your massage, now. I dunno if I can massage you with him drooling nearby."

I laughed. She was right. "I could kick him out, now with him knowing 'Marissa' won't come along."

"I doubt that. It appears he contemplates the sight of two women touching each other," she said, turning slightly red, eyes averted.

"Don't feel embarrassed, I'm just as grossed out."

She looked at me before looking away quickly. "Well, what do we do about him? He knows your 'private' life, now, and will cling to you every time you come here. Don't you think that'll be annoying?"

"Most definitely," I agreed. Then, I asked, "Are your friends Seth and Greg still gonna give him a massage?"

"Yeah, I guess. They just left to give you space . . ."

Tony broke the door open, lifting up a fruits basket and salad. "Delivery!" he declared triumphantly. He rushed to my side. "Sorry, Cel, don't know what you like, but I got what appeared nutritious."

"How thoughtful," I replied sarcastically. I gave a crossed look at the fruits basket. "Wow, Tony."

He grinned. "Yup. In case you do have a case of low blood-sugar, I assumed it was best playing safe and grabbing fruits. And a salad. C'mon, eat." He practically poked the food into my mouth, but I pushed it away.

"Tony, we are not going out, get it right," I said. "And I can feed myself."

"Better hurry up with that food," said Nahlah, checking the clock. "I have a two-hour shift at Soulier in the next hour and a half. You're lucky all my busy hours here were earlier this morning."

I ate quickly, trying to ignore the protective Tony and Nahlah's eyes on me; Tony ended up eating most of my food anyway, seeing that my episode made his stomach twist abnormally. Aftewards, Greg and Seth returned, preparing the massages. After all his efforts, I still got Nahlah as my masseus. Tony won Greg to his dismay.

"Bullshit," he growled freshly, folding his arms. "I'll just sit here and watch. No way any dude is gonna lay a fingernail on me."

"You're such a girl," I scoffed, shifting my shoulder and arms comfortably as I lay out in front of Nahlah under my towel.

"I came only for that Marissa girl, just to see if she was anything special or even hotter than you," he announced, hoping that would trigger jealousy in me or something.

I snorted. "Give up, Tony."

"Maybe some other time," he began, already planning in whatever brain he had.

However, I ignored him, glad all of that was over and done with. Like caressing waves, Nahlah's touch swooned my stress away as she explored my back.


	12. Leisures

Author's Note: So, what think so far? As you can tell, the tension between Celeste and Nahlah gets interesting. I hope you like so far, and thanks for those who have reviewed so far. This story is completed, I'm just working on posting all chapters--a total of 34 chapters. ^^ Hope you can keep up.

Chapter 12:

Leisures

"Is it mainly the back you have to massage?" I asked randomly, fifteen minutes of our massage nearly left.

"Yeah, why?" asked Nahlah.

Her thumbs found my back and the lower part, again. I closed my eyes. Faint images of her face flickered in my mind, so I opened my eyes again, surveying the room with casual interest. Next to me in the chair he scooted closer to me, Tony was still rambling about something. I forget what it was about.

"Hey, I was talking," complained Tony.

"Shut up, Tony," I snapped. "This is a fucking _massage_."

Nahlah continued. "Reflexology focuses on the back, legs, and feet, and other nerve points that relate to other aching points of your body. Like, here, I hit the spot responsible for headaches . . ." She retreated back to my feet, fingers nibbling and exploring my toes or soles of my feet. "Or here, for the heart . . ."

In response, my heart fired up as if with adrenaline. Her fingers continued to soothe the very surface of my skin, yet sent my heart rolling and bouncing into heights of excitement or total wonder.

"I dunno, I was just wondering," I spoke up. "I mean, it's kinda of annoying not to be able to converse talk when I'm lying down."

"I thought you said this was a fucking massage," riposted Tony, frustrated and hurt.

I ignored him. One would think he'd get the idea that I would always ignore him.

"How can reflexology work successfully when you're sitting up? That disturbs and uses up muscle power, something that should be relaxed during massages," said Tony bitterly.

I ignored him as Nahlah paused in her work. A silence followed, until she suggested, "He's right."

"I don't care. I'm still getting my massage—it's my appointment."

Nahlah looked at me hesitantly. Then, she whispered, "If you want . . ."

Wordlessly, I sat up, turned around, and lifted my leg a bit—enough leverage for her to return to my feet. Her fingers lingered and thrust into the soles of my feet, igniting consolation, while sometimes they toured through the gaps between my toes. We smiled heartily as we conversed whatever talk worked. The entire time I wondered how we were able to pull off such progressing conversation during a massage—which was supposed to be quiet—unlike our walk from last night, which was meant for social means.

Tony, next to us, joined our conversations now and then. However, all he did was stare google-eyed at my raised, defined, bare leg or Nahlah caressing it.

"You should kiss," he blurted, but we ignored him.

"God, I hate running," condemned Nahlah, laughing. "I'm sorry, but, when I saw you jogging that other day, I was thinking, 'How does she do it'?"

"Yeah, she's a road runner," agreed Tony, smirking. "Enough of play to chase."

I rolled my eyes. "Ever tried talking politely, for once, Tony?"

"C'mon, I'm just teasing ya."

"It's getting old. Be courteous, for once."

Unfortunately, my massage was over. We kicked Tony out so I could dress. He made a comment about being "jealous" over the privilege that Nahlah could see me naked but not him. This infuriated both of us, even though Nahlah was the one who forced him out considering I was the one still in a towel. Afterwards, she retrieved my hidden clothes beneath her coat and gave them to me.

I smiled. "Thanks."

"I'll leave,, too," said Nahlah as she turned. "So you can change in peace, for once."

"It wasn't you I was worried about," I told her casually as my towel fell.

Just as I said that—grabbing my shirt on the floor—Nahlah opened the door to leave. And Tony had been standing there, hands in his jacket's pockets thoughtfully, in deep thought. When he looked up, he and Nahlah were face-to-face. At the same time, he saw me, my back facing him, though.

Nahlah slammed the door on him. "I am SO sorry! I didn't think he'd be _standing_ there—!" she cried, turning around, back pressed against the door.

She looked up, seeing me, then looked away. I had seen Tony's speechless expression, though, and had been already looking at her just as shy about the whole thing. Quickly, I scrunched my shirt on, then forced my jeans on. Nahlah was quiet behind me; when I turned, she was still looking toward the window, hands behind her back, still against the wall.

"We're both girls, it's fine—" I began, but she interrupted.

"You're forgetting _who_ likes that," retorted Nahlah, half-heartily.

I couldn't help but chortle. "Right . . ."

Before leaving the room, I thanked her and handed her money. Before I allowed her to accept it, I gave her nose a quick tap with the money, smiling.

"So, I'll see ya later . . .?" I began, hoping she caught on.

She smiled, but shook her head; the gleam remained in her bright eyes. "Not in a while. I got dinner tonight at 7:00, Radio Beam."

I tried to tug at my smile as I nodded, understanding. "Right, right. Well, see ya, and thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." She took the money, opened the door for me, and waved to both Tony and I as we left.

--

When Tony and I left, we didn't exchange words over the peeping incident or any other incidents before that. However, apparently Loraine had heard. She homed in on us the moment we left the perimeters of Spa&Soul.

"Damn, Vanity," she cursed, yet relieved. "Greed told us about your fainting episode. What was that all about? Don't answer that, he told us about your failure to eat since last night . . ."

"Cool it, Raine," I said as Tony and I slipped out of sight. We were on the rooftops in no time. "I'm done for today. I'm going to rest at Merc's, okay?"

"He also told us how Merc followed you," added Loraine, worry weighing her supreme tone.

"Well, I invited him. Just his style of arrival threw me off guard." I promised her, flustered, "And don't worry, Merc believed every word—"

"Yep, he officially thinks Vanity and I are a couple!" blazoned Tony beside me.

I sped faster ahead of him. However, that only seemed to please him as if he'd just won me already.

Ignoring him, I asked, "So, what were those night errands you want me to do? Cuz I seriously was hoping I could chill for the rest of the day until my favorite concert, Raine."

"I need you to head for this harbor at the southeast end of the city," reported Raine. She sounded like she was examining something. "We need you to guard the weapon supplies being imported. Some Runners have found our source of ammunition and want to cut it off from the Blues and SWAT."

"Really?"

"Yup. You're on patrol. I need you to stop by there quickly to familiarize yourself with the area," pressed Loraine. "It'll be a brief visit. Afterwards, you can chill. And as for your concert, I'm not sure. You just came from a massage you've been visiting daily, so I think it's time you quit slacking."

I flared my nose noisily into the communicator.

"Just do it. I'll have Greed look out for you in case Runners spy you or something."

"What? Why not Bullet or Kick, for once?"

"Bullet's still trying to track down Team Shard. And you know Kick, she doesn't want to play as your ass anymore. Now, your white suit is waiting in a yellow suitcase near the northern hotel. Put that on, go with Greed, and briefly sweep the harbor. You and Greed will make things are shipshape and secure."

"Why that white thing again? I'll stand out."

"Actually, considering the white city you live in, you'll blend in just fine. For the day time, at least. Now git." Loraine hung up.

"You heard the lady," said Tony, growing serious. "Let's go."

"What about Merc? He's expecting my return any moment—massages don't last _that_ long," I pointed out.

"Fine, quick visit. I'll be waiting nearby. Now hurry."

When I arrived at Merc's, he blew up at me with his usual curses. I demanded that he tell me what he was doing at Spa&Soul in such a secretive manner.

"You're the one who's been sneaking off into your 'private life' with a boyfriend!" he bellowed thunderously. "Especially during our _crisis_! Your friend is out there, endangering herself not just in the name of her sister but for this damn city you live in! Celeste, get your head out of the clouds. Lower yourself a little, realize Runners keep disappearing on us without a word!"

I was glaring at him the whole time. His rampage was destroying the feeling Nahlah's massage left on me. Tightly, I crossed my arms as I scowled him as much as he was scolding me.

"Think about Drake—he's just as worried—and I have Faith to worry about the most, who is god knows where!"

I blinked. "You don't know where she is?"

"No, I do," he corrected himself. "I'm just concerned about her safety. She's entering the underworld!"

I waited out his impatient fuming, which he silently referred to. He glared at me every now and then, trying to sort out safety priorities.

After a bit, I spoke, "To be honest, Merc . . . it's Faith you should worry about. She may be a few years younger than me, but she's still a kid. She's just as reckless, though. Take care of her."

"You should be taking care of her back," barked Merc, making me nearly jump, but I held my ground. He exhaled dramatically but furiously. "Was that guy seriously your boyfriend? Why do you think I tried to keep you from running off into the city streets—to keep you from relationships so they didn't end up stabbing you in the end."

I looked at him, while he gave me a frustrated, yet soft and weak look.

He explained in a lower voice, "They hurt, Cel. It doesn't matter how. Whether they are threatened by Project Icarus or if they end up dragging you down in those stupid little love quarrels. They hurt, Cel."

I looked at him, trying to read deep into those eyes. "You're letting _Faith_ run off in the name of a relationship."

"That's because Kate is all she has," explained Merc, sitting in his chair, quietly staring at me. "Kate's _already_ in danger. Your boyfriend isn't, but _could_ be if you two continue. Because sooner or later, when the government discovers you're a Runner, they'll find out about his ties with you. They'll arrest him, interrogate him, or use him for hostage just to get you to fall."

I glared at him. "How'd you find me there, anyway?"

He sighed, disappointed, as if I blew off the important topic. Giving up, he growled in explanation, "You said you were getting a massage, right? I had several sources call up all the massage and spa resorts around the city to ask for your name and your appointment. I failed; being the smart Runner you are, you used false identity for all we know. However, a contact of mine had seen you recently entering Spa&Soul_._ We found out today's appointment, so I snuck my own appointment in prior to yours."

I smirked. "Wow, Merc. I'm touched."

He glared at me, but his broad, sharp features softened. "Celeste . . ."

"Don't worry about me. Look how far I've gotten, untouched," I declared proudly.

He sighed. "What are you up to, now?"

"Jake and I hope to hit a concert tonight," I lied, shrugging with a soft smile.

His head shot up. "Weren't you _listening_, Cel?"

I finished quickly, "Hey, c'mon, think of our relationship as a motivation to kick Project Icarus' ass?"

_Hell yeah. Like I'd die for Tony._

Mercury chuckled barely. "So you're going, now?"

"Yeah . . ." I frowned, feeling bad. I could already feel that he was viewing me as a selfish over-her-head-for-a-guy kind of girl. ". . . If you need me, just call me."

"Pick _up_, then." He glared.

"Right. I will." I turned, then halted. "Oh, and if Faith finds Pope's killer, tell her I'm cheering for her."

He nodded quietly, turned around in his chair, and typed away.

Tony and I met up. We headed for the harbor, to which Loraine guided us. When we were done checking out the security of the Blues and SWAT team there, we left, as quickly as the boss promised. Tony and I parted our ways, and I crashed back at Merc's, who was relieved to see me again.

"I'm leaving, again," I announced at 6:15.

He turned to me. "Jake, right?"

"Yeah. I told you, we had a concert in mind."

"Kay, have fun, Cel. Keep that communicator on," he finished harshly. I nodded, and left.

I dropped at the New Eden Mall for new clothes, getting bored with my own. In all honesty, I never really had a fashion taste for any clothes. I wore my red shirt and dark, skinny jeans with the black sneakers, a lot. Call me a virgin, but I took a look at some magazines or civilians walking by for a tip.

After a frustrating forty-five minutes at the mall, I gave up to a simple red sleeveless red v-collared shirt that exposed my stomach, along with tight jeans with relaxed, baggy hems, plus my sneakers. I chose a tight, black leather overcoat for warmth.

I found Radio Beam. I hesitantly stepped through the single glass door framed by two jutting see-through windows on either side. Inside, it glowed red; very crowded. It was a very small café or bar—whatever you wanted to call it—the size of the average room in a house. A nice cushioned booth on my left with a wide, wooden table. Friends were screaming and talking loudly in it. On my right the table-sized stage for the singer and her band. One of their members was playing at the rather old piano. Small tables packed the very middle of the room, congested with quietly talking families or friends.

And at the far bar was Nahlah. She saw me and waved, smiling. I waved back timidly, seeing that some people were curiously yet briefly glimpsing at me. A few guys whispered with each other, staring. I ignored them and clumsily pushed through the crowds that just stood there due to the lack of seats, and joined Nahlah, who saved me a seat with her coat over the chair.

"Hey," she welcomed me, smiling, her eyes giving my whole party image a secret flicker.

I gave a small smile. "Hey . . ."

"You look good," she boomed over the loud band in the rather small room.

"Thanks," I hollered back in her ear. I took a look at her: "You look pretty, too!"

Nahlah's blue halter top surpassed my blue eyes or her blue eyes combined. It was a Latin or Tango styled shirt, with detailed, beady strings singing at every little movement of hers. They dominated her bosom, hanging over her tightly covered and rather exposed stomach. She wore a cute short jean skirt; my eyes curved over her perfectly formed legs, which led to casual flip-flops. Most of all, with the halter-top exposing the wonders of her steep, naked collarbone and neck, she had her hair up. Her long wavy ponytail swept behind her, stressing grace and motion to her model-like frame. On her ears dangled simple earrings, which looked like mini wind chimes.

If she was blushing, I didn't see it, but Nahlah's usual nervous smile gave her away. We shared fond smiles.

"Here, I have something." Nahlah grabbed a tiny box from the bar and presented it to me.

I stared at it, then at her, caught off guard.

She opened the lid, smiling bashfully again. Inside was the wooden figurine of a faceless, brunette girl forming her hands spherically around a golden heart at the center of her chest. The figurine slightly tilted her head with fondness and compassion.

I took it automatically, engrossed by the abstract carving details, not that there was much. Hints of every surface ever chiseled were evident. My fingers traced down the few lines of the figurine's white dress.

"It's . . . she's so cute," I declared in a gasp. My eyes popped gratefully at Nahlah. ". . . Thanks . . .!"

Nahlah beamed. "I wasn't sure if you'd like her."

"No, seriously." I smiled. "It's been so long since you've seen anything like these in stores. Everything's all new and technology, but this, this is a natural wonder. Hand-made, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I made it."

"Really?" I found myself grinning big. "Wow. This is beautiful."

I did whatever it took to make her smile, which worked. Nahlah was very relieved and excited by my praise. She said, "My mother and her friends in Mexico make them and sell them. I found it very cute and started doing it myself. It's been a while, though, since I made one, so, yeah . . ."

"I feel honored," I told her, wrapping my fingers delicately around the palm-sized figurine. "Seriously, Nahlah, you don't see things like this anymore."

"Thank you. Yeah, they kinda remind you of, ya know, that there are trees out there and everything," said Nahlah, shrugging cutely. "And an ocean . . ."

I grinned at her, aiming the figurine at her. "You should take me to Mexico, or something. A chance to leave this city for good, maybe."

She looked at me, absorbing those last words, but nodded adventurously. "Yeah, I should. Ever been to a beach—I mean, a real tropical beach?"

"No. Does a harbor count?"

_Haha._

She laughed. "Frankly, no. So, I guess we'll go some time. Hopefully?"

She caught my gaze easily, holding it. Our smiles lingered, until I realized it was my cue to nod and agree: "Yeah."

Looking at her, I tried to figure out the next thing to say. Nahlah turned to the band, however, declaring, "So, what do you think?"

I flitted my attention to something else for once, glimpsing at the band. "Yeah, yeah. They're nice." I turned to her curiously. "Who are they?"

"They're kinda well known," answered Nahlah, bobbing her head somewhat to the music. "They're actually quite new, too. Known around this district—_the Fucking Shepards._"

I gave her a look with a curious grin of amusement, arching an eyebrow. "The Fucking Shepards? _Really_? Haha, is that seriously their name?"

"Gotta love rock bands," she laughed lightly.

"God, how could such a crazy band like them play in this small room?"

"I dunno. Yeah, it would make dancing hard."

She shrugged, while I asked, "What other kinds of music you like?"

"Um, my tastes are pretty scattered. The blues, jazz, a bit of hip-hop, even some serene peaceful music like Zen or spa music—_Solitudes_, remember?—and I do have a bit for rock music."

"Wow, you're casual." I nodded approvingly; I could never stop smiling.

"You?"

"About the same," I said, swaying my hand side to side in agreement.

"What about European music?" asked Nahlah, eyes locked with my eyes.

I nodded, smiling. "Yeah, soft, morning European music is great for the soul."

She laughed lightly in agreement. "And classical?"

"I love some classicals," I admitted jokingly.

A bartender asked us for drinks. Nahlah asked politely whether I drank wine. I nodded and within two minutes we got our wine. Drinking, we smiled and shared thoughts every now and then as we listened to the band with the funny name.

The best hours of my life lingered. For once, they didn't feel like those hourly seconds I suffered and wished didn't end. I didn't want tonight to end; it felt fresh, immortal, and alive. Meeting someone worth looking forward to after the day's errands was rewarding. The whole atmosphere, with everyone and everything in it, seemed happy, as if pain didn't exist. Not a dark thought ever resided in my head for a second as I sat next to this amazing, gorgeous brunette.


	13. Faith

Chapter 13:

Faith

"Hey, didn't you say you liked Lily Allen?" said Nahlah, who leaned into my ear to speak over the music.

"Yeah?"

She pulled out from her purse two albums. "I know she's sorta old, but you're right. She's hysterically good. Punk."

"Good, _good_ for you."

"Yeah, your friend Ari from Fye told me about her album when I was wandering around there," she told me. "Lily Allen knows what she's talking about."

I took a gulp from my second glass of wine, nodding. "Thank you, someone understands me."

"_Mr. Blue Sky_ is very catchy," continued Nahlah, pointing at the track lists. "Oh, and I LOVE_ Knock 'Em Out, Smile_, and _Naïve_."

"You, my friend," I said, pointing at her with love and approval, "are an angel. But I'm not surprised; her music was popular and still is."

"Are you drunk?" she joked, taking my glass of wine and placing it down.

"What, no, why?"

"Just making sure. Don't wanna get carried away, right?"

"You not a heavy drinker?"

"I can be, but I try to be careful." Nahlah grinned. "Just looking out for you."

"Touched. But that's unnecessary, I can take of myself, thank you."

She gave me a cocky smile. "Oh? Cuz I don't want you ending up like those poor girls preyed on in _Knock 'Em Out_ . . ."

I sniggered at her Lily Allen allusion.

"Drunk guys are going to get the wrong idea about you, here. See, they're already staring. Always have been when you came in."

I gave her a look, before taking her words to heart—not that I never noticed. I turned, seeing underage or overage men taking their glimpses. I rolled my eyes, excusing them with a "whatever" smile. When I looked back at Nahlah, I caught her looking again, but didn't say anything.

"Please, no men, not now," I told her, taking another sip of wine. "Considering my experiences with Tony, he defines the very definition of Man."

She looked at me wordlessly; I found those eyes poisonous, yet alluring. The emotions nauseating my stomach began to bug me, yet I accepted them openly as I restrained my yearnings to look at her.

"You know," began Nahlah as she looked timidly at me, "you are very pretty, Celeste. I envy you, sometimes."

I arched an eyebrow. "Is that what we're here to talk about?" I mocked.

She shook her head instantly, shrugging slightly. "No, no. I was just saying. I . . . I just find your eyes very appealing."

"Thank you . . ." _Now_ it was awkward. I occupied myself from the delicate moment by taking more heavy sips.

Realizing she'd carried it too far, Nahlah switched her eyes to the band. Losing ideas for topics, I joined her and listened to the Fucking Shepards.

Then something buzzed in my ear. I thought it was a fly or something, but I realized it was Loraine.

I had to make sure I hadn't gone mentally insane. Rapidly, I excused myself to the bathroom, made sure no one was inside the stalls, then hissed: "_What_, Raine?"

"I told you to expect me dropping in any moment," she returned harshly. "The harbor, Vanity? The imports need protection—specifically during the night, a great cloaking chance for those pestering Runners."

"No, _please_, not _now_, Raine?" I pleaded. "I'm having a blast."

She paused, then heard the music. "Oh, well, I'm glad to hear that, but sad to say that this is an _order_. Meet Kick at the harbor. She'll give you your suit, then you're on duty until I deem it appropriate and safe for you to quit the night."

"You've got to be kidding," I groaned. "Please, Raine . . ."

"Wow, you sound like you're having fun. This isn't with Tony, is it?"

"No! Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know, I thought he was with you?"

"Of course not," I snapped heavily. I exhaled, irritated. "Fine. But can you make it as quick as possible. This is a good band."

"Who is it?" she asked innocently, interested.

"The Fucking Shepards."

She paused, then chuckled. "Funny name."

"I know, I love it. I already love them, they're loud and crazy, just what we need!" I exclaimed.

"Just like you," she joked, then added strictly, "Go."

"Fine. You owe me, Raine."

"Fine, I'll pay for your next massage, how about that?"

"You made my night and the nights to come. Thanks, Raine—"

"No, thank you. Now, go. You know Kick."

When I left the bathroom, I returned to Nahlah. Despite Loraine's kind promise, I felt twisted to having to tell Nahlah about my sudden departure. When the brunette saw me, she smiled, then it faded as she saw the flimsy apology on my expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I have to go," I told her. I didn't know how to explain.

"Really? We still have all night and everything," she protested quietly, yet intently. "I thought we'd head to my place and listen to some music together, specifically Lily Allen. I was also considering buying the Fucking Shepards' music—it's only ten dollars—"

I shook my head, completely hating myself. "I'm sorry, Nahlah. But I have to go. Things have come up."

She looked at me. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. Just . . . my boss is being a bitch and wants me to run an errand for her—yeah, this late," I lied. I was sick of lying, now.

Nahlah looked at me before her eyes dimmed. I was going to miss that cerulean light terribly; I stared at the floor speechlessly before looking at her hesitantly. I was about to pull in to give her a reassuring hug, but for some reason, couldn't. I didn't know why, but . . .

She nodded with acceptance. "Don't worry about it. We see each other, like, every day now. You need to make a living, after all."

I nodded, nothing coming out. I felt like a total bitch to her, abandoning her like that when only two delightful, utopian hours flitted by. I smiled at her, apologized again, thanked her for paying for the drinks, and turned.

"Oh," I said, raising the little wooden figurine I cherished in my hand, "thanks for the gift. It's cute. I'll definitely think of you."

She nodded, as if it was the only thing we could do, but I could tell she really meant it. I flashed a wider, caring smile of appreciation, which she returned. "See ya."

Just when I thought I was permanently leaving, I stopped, and approached her. She had been staring after me, so when she saw me turn her eyes lit up, with anticipation but curiosity.

"Um," I began thoughtfully, "what's your last name?"

She stared, then smiled. "Zvarova. Nahlah Zvarova."

"Zvarova . . .?" I attempted. We burst out giggling over my staggering pronunciation attempt over the name. She told me to forget it, but I asked for her to spell it as well as how to pronounce it in parentheses, which she laughed fondly over. She scribbled it down on that familiar notepad she carried everywhere, tore the piece of paper, and gave it to me.

We threw our last smiles. I fidgeted with my paper, then looked up into her eyes, which had been searching me as well. I never realized how close I was standing in front of her, with her leaning closer from in her high stool—but I reminded myself it was so we could hear each other over the music.

Our eyes found each other, plunging deep into dangerous, yet curious currents. Everything seemed to go blank as we leaned closer, but then something stopped us halfway.

Her eyes searched mine, until I looked down at the floor and smiled back up at her. "I think I _am_ getting a bit drunk."

She laughed fondly.

"Well, thanks. Tonight was awesome."

She beamed, while looking as though she was trying to decide whether to look at me or the attractive floor. "Yeah. I had fun."

I turned, eyes pasted to the floor, and walked away, carving through drunk, dancing customers. When I walked out, a held breath finally shuddered out of me. I was relieved, yet excited altogether. I took a sweeping glance at the piece of paper she wrote on.

She had also written her street address and phone number.

--

"Steady yourself, Vanity," advised Loraine in my ear as I aimed my gun.

Its red beam searched the boxes, vacant trucks, and the one empty dark entrance leading into a small building on the harbor.

Faith was somewhere out there.

"Dammit," I hissed to myself. I found myself shaking.

"Steady," reminded Loraine. "You have to calm down. You knew it'd come to this sooner or later. And now's the time. You can do it, you can take Faith Connors on."

"I don't know," I whispered.

"No turning back, Vanity. You have a new life, now. New life, new comrades, new job."

"Shit, why did she have to come here? Of all Runners? I thought you said you would take care of her!" I continued cursing, my red beam emitting from my gun tagging every dark surface laid out in front of me. The wide, vacant harbor was a bit spooky, with Faith prowling around. The uncanny silence spiked my adrenaline; it felt suddenly warm in my white attire.

"Where's KICK?" I demanded, pissed.

"She's gathering reinforcements, just as we speak." Loraine summarized the situation. "It turned out even Faith couldn't find Team Shard. So, she had to go the hard way and have Merc find the blueprints for the harbor and everything. He led her to here—not just because of the imports, but because Faith saw you."

"_Saw_ me? Like, the real me?" I snapped in hushed whisper. Every detailed movement, whether it was litter or leaves or a rat, set my senses off like an alarm.

"No, she saw recordings on cameras that caught sight of you here at this exact harbor," corrected Loraine, voice edgy. "What sucks even more was that she saw you on _our_ cameras, Vanity. The very monitor at the PK headquarters she had breached earlier."

"That damn large screen gave me away to her?" I snapped. "Shit, Raine, talk about your high security!"

"I'm sorry, Vanity. We've honestly tried to make sure Faith would never have to run into you."

"Now I have to cover my ass from her," I muttered ungratefully, panicked.

"Don't delay, Vanity," bribed my boss. "The faster you take Connors out, the quicker you can go back to your concert."

That was enough motivation.

"Shit, there she is!" shouted Loraine, practically right through my eardrum and into my sensitive brain.

Nevertheless, I fired in correspondence. Faith's figure lurched closer, somersaulting and taking cover behind the stupid giant trucks, crates, boxes, explosive barrels, and other crap. _Who put those there!?_

"Stay calm," continued Loraine, more to herself than to me.

"Shush, shush—shut UP, Raine!" I hissed lowly. I really needed the _silence_.

Faith somersaulted again, evading another of my bullets. My red beam crawled and scoped the area. I saw another flash of movement from her and released another single bullet, not wanting to waste them like any assailant in Faith's position hoped.

"There!"

Faith ran toward me at full speed, charging blindly. I went all gun-happy, bullets biting around her.

"She's getting too close—don't let her gain the upper hand, attack _first_—!" urged my boss, but I hissed a hush at her.

Shit, I didn't want to be here. Was it too much to ask to enjoy an evening with a friend at a bar rather than facing death like this? Especially against a former comrade?

"She's coming, brace yourself—!" warned Loraine, voice high.

Faith, who had been running closer and closer toward me, finally ducked below the porch and stairs I stood up on. Now that she was close, it was a fifty-fifty chance of one of us winning the sparring.

After quickly running up the neon-green stairs toward me, Faith and I were on even levels. Same flat surface, same ominous Edges surrounding us, same conditions—minus the fact that I had a gun and she didn't. Stupid Runner.

Faith charged. With her being so close, aiming a gun was pointless. Sheathing my weapon, I hurled a spinning kick at Faith when she approached. This surprised her, knocking her backwards a bit. I rammed toward her, delivering some blows. She tried to sweep-kick me from below, but I dodge-rolled backwards, back onto my feet in seconds. She charged again, meeting me halfway when I tried to spin-kick her again. Instead, she surprised me with a quick slide-attack like a soccer player would.

_Shit_.

"Get outta there, Vanity!" roared Loraine.

I finally listened to Loraine; dodged Faith's attacks, blocked a blow, head-butted her, then stepped back, fired at her, missed, turned, and bolted out of there. She chased me across the porch as I retreated backwards into a building.

"Faster, Vanity!"

"Shuddap!" I hissed, panting as I bolted.

I could hear Faith's grunts of running effort to catch up. I leaned forward, pumping my arms, whole body erect like an upward, straight plank. She followed me as I slid under the closing gate doors shutting slowly for my sake. Faith was fast, though, and passed those obstacles. It was a long pursuit, including a lot of closing heavy doors on her, shooting at knobs to slow her down with the skin-peeling steam explosions, and even swinging on ceiling poles or wall-running.

When I reached outside, it was a bigger battle arena for the both of us. I escaped outside on a wire, zipping over a fence and stumbling up to find higher ground again. I found I had the upper hand as I waited for Faith to appear over that wired fence on my big rectangular crate. She advanced relentlessly, the fool. After clambering over the wired fence and charging toward the smaller stacks of crates below me, Faith finally reached me.

Again, we were face-to-face on flat surface surrounded by considerably damaging heights.

"Take her _out_, Vanity!" screeched Loraine, cursing.

My adrenaline burst violently as I raved against Faith in the hopes to leave behind my past evil deeds of betrayal. I delivered her my hardest efforts of punches, kicks, and gunfire. However, like before, Faith took me out within a minute with her sneaky slide-attacks. Finishing me off, she delivered several more blows before grabbing my gun from my own hand, knocking it away, and pinning me down against the floor using my arm like Tony had.

I restrained to keep my recognizable voice from grunting out in pain, but the grunt escaped. She didn't say anything yet.

"DAMN!" shouted Loraine in total panic and anger.

Faith looked down at me.

I had to give her credit: I endangered her _sister_. You never piss Faith off.

Then, the alarms went off. The red lights tickled across the night air around us, highlighting Faith and I in neon-red. She looked around, cursing. I took this as my chance to buck her off with my hind legs. Then, I scrambled away, dashing for any escape.

"Keep running, Kick's coming with the SWAT," said Loraine.

I jumped off the crates. Being slightly inflicted by Faith's blows, I staggered and nearly stumbled to my knees after landing from the jump. _"Ack!"_ I cried out, grunting and panting. I swayed, but found my balance and ran toward a narrow escape between crates.

However, Faith stepped from the shadows in front of me, as if I had run backwards.

She glared at me in her usual, stony manner. Crouching, I was ready, fists curled.

"Deliver the pain first, Cel!" commanded my boss.

I charged, punching. My fist flew past Faith, who grabbed my vulnerable back and arms and thrust me against a crate wall. I grunted in pain at impact.

There was a pause as I heard Faith's breathing.

"Cel?"

_Shit, shit, shit, fucking shit! Are you SHITTIN' me!?_

"Your fucking _ponytail_!" explained Loraine into my ear.

Without hesitation, I removed my mask, turning around; I ignored Loraine's yells to not reveal myself, but a sudden loyalty tugged at my heartstrings.

I faced Faith coldly, yet eyes admonishing her. "I tried to warn you of. I'm sorry. You've gotta learn to let go, Faith. You remember . . .?"

It felt weird talking to her; I haven't seen her since that night I warned her not to involve herself.

Faith stared, eyes wide, but those coal eyes thinned as she glared at me hotly. Her fists tightened at her sides as her head lowered ominously at me, shoulders hunched, ready to react when I pulled out a hidden gun from my back pocket.

"Like you did with your family," I said.

I found myself smiling—anything to keep her from me, to prove I was serious. I was not part of her line of work nor life anymore.

"The Runners are screwed!" I shouted, "Icarus is just a start. And I wanna _live_, Faith, not just survive!"

"Why Pope?" Faith was nearly grinning.

_What?_

"His campaign was getting unexpected support, but he got stupid. Started making threats to the wrong people: high-up people," I told her, reading her heavy expressions.

"_Dammit_, Cel!" swore Loraine into my ear.

I grinned. It wouldn't matter; Faith was going to be gone, anyway. My gun was pointed at her, after all. I realized I had to do it—I was better off killing her making her feel hatred rather than regret for knowing me.

Faith's realization peaked in the broad grin she flashed: "He found out about Icarus," she exclaimed, voice lifting high in amusement. "So they had _you_ kill him?"

"Him or me," I summarized, smiling cynically. "Sorry about Kate. Didn't know she was your sis—"

Gunfire raged from our far left. The searchlights from the watch towers over the harbor blinded our only exit. We saw the SWAT advancing slowly but surely as they fired blindly at us in the darkness.

Faith grabbed my gun; I gasped, thinking she'd shoot me, but instead, she aimed at the SWAT team. Relieved, I grinned, glad she still had it in her, for some reason. However, I took two steps backwards into a slight gap between two crates and disappeared.

"Get out of there, Vanity—dammit, bitch, you're in trouble!" declared Loraine.

"Why you pissed? It was like when Bullet told me right off the bat what Project Icarus was and who she and the others were," I told her, grinning. "Besides, Faith already knew about Project Icarus the moment she filtered your headquarters. She even knew about the reasons behind Pope's murder, everyone did. She just wanted confirmation—after all, she's a devoted Runner. She knew her job, her lines."

Loraine was still swearing in mutters. Finally, she exhaled, her breath shuddering. "Damn, woman."

I grinned. "Look, I know Faith. The chances of her finding out about Project Icarus were extremely high, but don't be so concerned. We're Project Icarus."

As if stunned by my change of attitude at the moment of crisis, Loraine paused. She declared, "What's got into you? You sound confident and . . . satisfied."

"I told you, the concert got me in a good mood," I told her. "You should listen to music more often, it really helps relax and educate the brain."

"Okay then." Loraine sounded calmer, now. "Listen to me, since you couldn't take Faith out, be grateful—but realize your paths could cross again. No more monologing, Vanity. You're going to kill her when you have the chance at gunpoint. We can't give her nor the Runners hope, too, about Kate."

"What about Kate? Why not just free the innocent cop?" I asked, slowing down and taking a breather. "That's the only personal reason why Faith involved herself in something I warned her not to."

"That's true, but her sister is our hostage."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes. As you can see, Faith's seen nearly a lot of things a Runner shouldn't have seen: you, PK headquarters, Project Icarus, the reasons behind Pope's murder, everything. Letting her running around loose is bad for us Callaghan supporters. By keeping her sister, maybe Faith will, for once, give up."

"You're considering threatening her sister to _that_ extent?" I asked, curious.

"Even if it means killing Kate, yes."

"Wow . . ."

"Hey, don't wow me. You're the reason why this all happened. Thank you."

I stuttered in my words in reaction to her words. They were like the blade of a knife: cold, deadly, and slow. Sooner or later this would hurt me, but I wouldn't let it. Because I had a happiness to return to.

"What's the status with Kate, anyway?" I asked, shaking my thought off the curved edge of the blade called betrayal.

"If you weren't listening, Faith just told Merc over about your betrayal," noted Loraine sorrowfully. "Merc told her about Kate being tried. Her convoy is taking her to jail in the morning. I'm gonna have Kick take care of the convoy transportation . . . And hey, I'm really sorry about this."

"I chose this," I told her, breathing in the cool air. The scent of the harbor lingered on me as if punishment for my betrayal.

"Someday you'll tell me why," began Loraine.

"Hm?"

"Nothing. Look, now that you can't ever go back to Drake or Merc's place, if you need a place to stay, Kick's willing to—"

"Kick?" _What?_

"Don't you remember earlier during training? She had that look, feeling bad for you and your betrayal. Listen, she may be harsh and pissy, but we're her friends and she hates friendships in this state. She has a history; everyone does."

Wow. Reagan. ". . . Tell her thanks, but I have a place."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Marissa's."

"Awee . . . ok, well, have a good rest. You need it. Things are now past the climax with Faith seeing you. Be careful on your way home, rookie."

"Yeah. Good night."


	14. Midnighter

Chapter 14:

Midnighter

This really sucked. Not only could I go back to Merc's to grab my favorite red shirt and jeans, but my clothes from Radio Beam were blown up at harbor. Faith shot explosive barrels to exterminate my reinforcements; itt was over the breaking live news when I walked by a shop with multiple TVs spread out on its window shelves. So, with the New Eden Mall still open, I stopped by it, considering I had taken off my white attire but still had the tight black attire underneath.

"Don't worry, Vanity," spoke Pepper into my ear. "We didn't forget your clothes that blew up. A contact of ours will meet you at right at the entrance. He'll hand you fresh clothes—hope you like them, because I personally picked them out."

For once, I was glad to hear her voice. "Bullet. Thank _god_."

"You look horrible."

"The security cameras are _that_ good?"

"Yeah, that's what they're for. How are you doing?"

I groaned, exhausted mentally and physically. After all, my heart nearly died back there with Faith; it was probably swollen from all that burst of adrenaline. "Fine. I just want to sleep."

"Yeah, you look tired."

"What about you? Your search for Team Shard?"

"_Nothing_. They're good, for former Runners."

I absorbed her dull news thoughtfully, then sighed. "I'm going now, Bullet. Thanks for the clothes."

After she hung up, I leaned off the curb, whistling for a taxi. Too tired to run.

"Where to, miss?" asked the driver, and I told him for New Eden Mall. While he waited for me, from there, Pepper's contact, some random ordinary-looking civilian, handed me a box of clothes from Old Navy. He led me to an outside public bathroom where I changed, while he looked out for me outside.

Pepper's clothes worked for now: casual, yet cute. I slipped on a thin-fabricated, white sweater with popped collars, which I flattened out in annoyance. I didn't know what was with the "exposed stomach" fashion, but I accepted it. In addition, there were comfortable velvet-soft gray sweatpants. Strings were knotted cutely at its midsection, while big obvious pockets sagged. Whatever covered me and made me look normal.

Afterwards, I told my driver Nahlah's address.

When we arrived ten minutes later on the top of a hill street, I was awed by Nahlah's rather wide, big, rectangular house. Like most buildings in this city, it was pure, flawless white. The strange thing lacked detail and windows—if you called those small lopsided, oval-shaped glowing holes, windows. They were scattered across the flat front of the "box". Only one door glowed bright gold in the night.

I asked the driver, "What time is it?"

He replied, "Eleven-thirty."

I pondered in my seat, staring at the single mouth of the box. Was it too late to see Nahlah? But didn't she mention she was hoping our get-together to be an all-nighter kind of thing?

"Is this the right place, miss?"

"Yeah, it is." I remained in my seat, though.

"Would you like me to wait or leave?"

"It's fine," I said, smiling. "You can leave. Thank you."

I paid him, then stepped out. The taxi coughed softly down the dark hill. The white city was now the black city, hints of security or residential lights on here and there. It was rather beautiful.

I approached the single door, yard lights illuminating my path. I pushed the door bell, and nearly right away it opened.

Nahlah's eyes bulged, then she blinked. "Maybe I'm drunk, too," she said.

I couldn't help but smile. It was really good to see her. "Hey, sorry about this."

She leaned against the door, still a little confused. I noticed the casual red night tank top with gray, flappy sweatpants.

"Hey, is something wrong?" she asked me.

Was I? Did I look like there was? I could picture myself looking forlorn and clueless at her door.

I didn't know what to say. I thought she had been expecting me. Stuttering, I managed to say, "Um, sorry. I just, thought, uh, that we were going to hang out for the rest of the night."

"But your boss . . .?"

"Yeah, I know," I said, waving the topic aside. "It went quicker than I thought. I'm sorry for ditching our plans, but, since you gave me your address and number and everything, I assumed it meant to come by . . . in case things changed . . ."

She nodded, listening, wide awake now. A thin smile escaped her lips as her eyes held onto me.

We just stood there, I didn't know why. So, I gestured to her house. "Nice box."

Nahlah giggled. "_Box?_ Thanks."

I grinned. "I was kidding. So, you gonna let me in or did I come here for nothing?"

"You changed, too," she noted, looking me up and down with a puzzled look.

"Yeahhh, um, I didn't see the point of dressing up when going to a friend's house, really," I said, stroking loose hair from my face.

Nahlah smiled, stepped aside, and welcomed me inside. As she closed the door behind me, my eyes drifted over the entire interior.

What was she, fucking _rich_?

The inside was high and larger than one would have assumed from looking outside. The hallway walls seemed to curve convex toward me. Even some doorways were curved with the walls. When she led me to the living room, it was more like a giant dance club, with a high white ceiling. The wooden floor was vast and empty-looking, even though there were furniture congesting the middle. The living room had a foreign feel to it with all the multiple neon-colors and natural patterns for its furniture. Four big mattress-looking cushions formed a giant square, holding a big stylish plate with at least a dozen green apples on it. The long twisted, zig-zagging sofa across from it was of many colors, too. I spied a green tray with protective barriers holding a single green apple and wine glass rested on one of the ends of the sofa. There were few pillows littering the floor or sofas; at the midsection of the sofa, a big wooden bowl cradled a smaller bowl in it, which was filled with dirt and a single sapling springing from it. On the far end of the long sofa were two fat cylinder tables holding incense candles.

"What the hell? Are you a princess or something?" I awed, gaping.

Nahlah leaned against the doorway, folding her arms. "No."

"What's your job?" What caught my attention the most was the whole see-through window the length of the house's entire opposite side. I saw a hidden garden out there, fenced in from the city world.

"You know me, I do massages. A friend of mine does interior designing, and sometimes I help out with him. In return, he did my box," replied Nahlah, smiling.

_Well._

My eyes lingered to the faraway bookcase decorative, abstract objects and thousands of CD albums stacked on each other shelf. The iPod stereo sat there, fat and huge, glowing red.

I heard Lily Allen's _Littlest Things_ booming softly on low volume.

I grinned. "I hear Lily Allen. Nice. But don't you think that song's a bit . . . _melancholy_ to play right now?"

Nahlah went to the iPod stereo and traced her finger around the selective button. Next thing, I heard Lily Allen's _Friday Night_. As I identified the song, she looked back at me with an inquiry look.

"Well, what about this?" she asked, smiling curiously.

I pursed my lips, head tilted to the side, then shook my head. "Nah. Sounds moody."

"What are you aiming for, then?" she teased me.

"I dunno. Something more . . . slow and soft."

"I'm gonna fall asleep here if we listen to that kind of stuff." Nahlah spun through different song choices, while I sunk into her flat sofa.

"Ever heard of Peter Gabriel?" she called over the shuffling music.

"Yeah. He's good."

"Here." Soft music began fiercely and passionately. The man's voice started slow and anticipating. I recognized it: "_In Your Eyes_?"

"Cute song, yeah." Nahlah straightened up, turning to me, flashing a smile gingerly. "How's that for tonight's song?"

"It makes me feel at peace, I'm good with it." I sagged my head backwards over the crown of the sofa's pillows. "Nice place."

"Thanks."

"The garden's cute, too. What's your favorite kind of flower?" I questioned nonchalantly.

"Lilies and hanging fuchsia. I go for the crazy or pretty-looking flowers," stated Nahlah as she joined my side, carefree. She spread her arms out over the crown of the sofa, giving me all her attention. "You?"

"Roses."

"Typical."

"Of _course_," I told her matter-of-flatly, "they're so gorgeous."

Nahlah smiled brightly, eyes engaging. Feeling slightly awkward, I studied her box again. "So . . . wanna show me the rest of the box?"

She laughed again at my repetitive nickname for it. "Sure, yeah, if you want."

We got up and I followed her. As she showed me around, I asked, "Do you live here by yourself? There's only one bed."

"Yeah."

"Got any family besides your mother and father?"

"A cousin of mine lives around, but we don't talk often. Just me and my box," she joked, flashing me a grin.

At one end she presented the computer room. A wide blue screen was planted into the wall, yet it lacked a computer. I took a closer look, though, seeing that the computer was actually in the table, as if part of it. The flat buttons emitted a faint blow glow. The table itself was everlasting, for it spread all the way from the computer both ways around the room's walls, stopping at the entrance we walked through. Some paper work was scattered here and there. I saw some architecture and interior design diagrams and handwriting, along with a few magazines.

"Don't you have a TV?" I asked.

"TVs are overrated for me," said Nahlah. "Only for news, or maybe briefly for a DVD I rented. Actually, I like going out occasionally for the cinema or something, though."

We left, me trailing her.

"Here," she announced finally, "is my bedroom. Nothing much. It eats enough sunlight, so I'm content."

Dimples of light cast a faint glow over her flat, low bed from the ceiling that hovered over her bed. The bed itself was of cloud-looking white texture. Two Black-and-white patterned pillows complimented the plain, larger white pillows behind them. At the end of her bed laid a thin, red blanket folded fancy.

"This was from Iraq," described Nahlah, caressing the think fabric. "My father likes to travel sometimes, so he bought this for me. It's actually a shawl for the women, but I like how it suited the bed."

"Put it on," I suggested. "I'd like to see."

Nahlah stared at me, uncertain. I smirked at her. She gave me a look of contempt, nearly pouting, but rolled her eyes with a defeated smile. We sat down on the bed as she grabbed the shawl delicately and swathed around her in graceful folds. Seeing such beauty within innocent clothing reminded me of the Virgin Mary, but I didn't say anything. Seeing the hints of her wavy hair peeking from inside the shawl gave her an innocent, concealed look.

"How does it look?" Nahlah shrugged her shoulders cutely, hoping to hide between them.

I couldn't stop smirking. "Cute."

Nervously, her eyes fell down on the cloud-like blanket of the bed. When she looked up again as I studied her features in silence, I was enraptured by those warm eyes again.

_In Your Eyes _was still chanting from the living room.

"I like this song," I blurted softly.

Her awkward smile grew bigger, more angelic. To occupy myself, I observed the fancy, curved red chair and its foot rest across from us against the wooden wall. I noticed the empty doorway on our left, from whence we came, leading to more glass walls yawning darkness at us. The backyard lights hinted a stone patio outside. On our right next to the bed's head was a nightstand, where another decorative golden plate and white bottles sat.

"Um . . ." Nahlah broke the silence, gesturing back to the kitchen while slipping the shawl off gracefully. "You hungry?"

"Um, sure, thanks."

"Are . . . cheese and crackers a nice midnight snack?"

I smiled politely, interlocking my fingers. "Yeah, thanks."

The dining room wasn't much of a dining room; I could have worked out in there. It was large and empty like the other side of the house, besides the single lounge chair sitting far away from the small circular dinner table in the heart of the room. A red and white spherical mat was underneath the table and chairs with curvy, cloud-like patterns.

"Damn." Probably my favorite part was the hole etched into the wall across from the dining table. It looked like a puzzle piece was missing. A whole human body could sit or lay on it as if it was a shelf for humans. I saw a book upside-down on it, assuming it was Nahlah's reading spot.

"This ceiling's crazy," I complimented, dipping my head back to awe. The ceiling sloped downward toward the side walls of the room. Light bulbs planted in the floor painted a faint, amphitheatre-like glow over the room.

Nahlah smiled with a fond "hm" in response to my observations. She disappeared into the rather small kitchen as I sat down at the small table. I heard some silverware noises clicking and clattering. Briefly, Nahlah walked out of the kitchen toward the living room. There was a minute's pause until the music suddenly stopped, with a new one coming on.

The piano rippled.

Nahlah walked back, greeted by my smile. "_Claire de Lune_? I love this one."

"I thought so. It's classic," she beamed. She went back to the kitchen, then returned with a tray of celery, cheese, and crackers along with a jug of orange juice. We shared the food in silence, contemplating the music tickling our heartstrings, softening the atmosphere.

I leaned back into my chair, sipping orange juice. "It's _such_ a different world in here," I murmured.

"In your zen?" joked Nahlah, nibbling on a cracker.

"Mhmm, a lot like _Spa&Soul_," I observed, "only not as _natural_."

"I could put on _Solitudes_ if you want, or _Zen Garden_ music?" offered Nahlah, about to get up.

I stopped her. "No, you don't have to. Just sit."

She was half-way from getting up, but slowly sat down, smiling. She scooted her chair tighter toward the table, then laced her fingers together as she looked at me attentively.

Without thinking, I suddenly succumbed to sublime music, closing my eyes and hugging myself comfortably, sinking into my chair. I smiled slightly to the tender serenade of music.

". . . Celeste . . .?"

I opened my eyes, wondering what was bothering her.

She was looking at me, then lowered her gaze. ". . . Back at _Spa&Soul_ . . . when I asked that question shortly before you fainted . . .?"

My heart shuddered painfully, yet emotionally as I reminisced to that exact moment. However, I continued to listen to her, gaze fixed on her crumbling, shy form. I had expecting it, but I wondered if she'd been thinking that the whole day. Did it really concern her?

"Did I . . . hit a nerve?" she murmured.

I sat up straight, leaning toward her as I stared at her from across me. My answer was brief after a few seconds' thought. ". . . You shocked me."

"I'm sorry," she blurted, eyes squinting with regret and humiliation.

"No, don't. It's just that . . . I'm not used to the feeling."

Dammit, now I was the dumb one. Dumb shot throughout my entire system, shutting down my intelligence and removing my ability to speak right.

I thought back to the moment: Merc and Tony glaring at each other, Nahlah shielding me from their view, then whispering in shock or curiosity, _"You're . . . bisexual?"_

There was that feeling again. I was wondering when she was going to bring it up again, if she ever was. I kind of didn't want to talk about it, either. However, I didn't want to hurt her feelings; I wanted her to know I didn't care who she was or her romantic interests.

"Sorry . . ." I murmured.

She nodded, voice weak but convincing a bit. "No, it's fine. I was just . . . I dunno, for the past days I was confused—curious . . ."

"Yeah . . . but don't worry, you're _beautiful_, don't worry," I told her.

She smiled a bit, playfully. "Thanks for the confidence boost."

"NO, I mean, ya know!" I began, making stupid gestures. "It's just . . . that, I don't know, I haven't really run into anything like this before. But . . ."

I looked up at her. She removed our eye contact, but decided to look into my eyes again. ". . . But," I continued, "I'm glad we're friends."

This time, we courageously held each other's gaze. The corner of my mouth lifted until it spread into a real, big smile. She returned it shyly.

"You're so shy," I blurted, grinning affectionately.

_Shut UP, Celeste._

Nahlah looked up, stared, then looked away, blushing. She was smiling though. As long as she was smiling, I knew I inflicted no damage. When the silence lingered longer than necessary, Nahlah looked up with a different, nearly forlorn look; I grinned, and she threw a piece of cracker at me.

"SHIT!" I shot up from my chair; her eyes bulged, following my movement. I held my breath, closing my eyes.

"Are you okay!?" She shot from her seat, too.

I smiled awkwardly. "You got some down my shirt."

She erupted in laughter, trying to contain it. I glowered at her, but she didn't care. Fuming silently, yet playing along with it, I turned around and stripped my white sweater off.

Nahlah stuttered, "You're wearing nothing underneath that shirt besides a bra?"

"Ughh, long story."

She was silent behind me as I removed the crumbs from my bra, splashing cracker dust off me. Then, I slipped my white overcoat back on and turned to her, sitting down. We kind of grinned at each other, not helping it.

Finally, Nahlah cleared her throat. "So . . . do you like Tony?"

"I told you, hell no," I snapped, agitated by the figment of him. She looked away. "Never had, never will."

_Claire de Lune_ was long over. On shuffle mode, Nahlah's music switched to the Rolling Stones, Jason Mraz, Taylor Swift, the Hippos, They Might Be Giants, a bit more of Lily Allen, and even _Warwick Avenue_ by Duffy.

"You like Duffy?" I commented after long minutes of listening to each random song.

Nahlah picked up the remains of our midnight snack. "Yeahhhh . . . I haven't listened to this song in a while, though."

She left the table to put away the mess. I heard the sink running, spitting loud. For some reason sitting down for once and listening to it brought consolation to me. Running had been so stressing lately, no matter how much I looked at it to remind myself how much it was my passion. I wanted to get away from Running, for once, even though I was technically not a Runner anymore. Merc, Faith, Drake, Kreeg, and everyone else were ripped from the picture.

Just listening to all of these made it hard to believe the life of a Runner existed. No Blues, no Project Icarus, no Merc existed. Just Nahlah and me. I would grab whatever I could to escape the life outside of these walls.

If only the other Runners saw _why_ I chose this life with Project Icarus rather than up on vacant, cold rooftops. The view was great; you felt like you were top of the world, just you and the Edge. But it wasn't like that anymore. For once, Running affected everyone else. People were getting angry at you. You used to think, Hell with it, let them be angry. Not now. Tension just spiked.

"God, it's late," reported Nahlah, reading her numberless clock in the kitchen. "It's 2:30 in the morning. You should probably get going. Wouldn't want you being tired for that bitchy boss of yours, right?"

I took a sip of the beer she had pulled out earlier.

"I don't give a shit," I told her over my shoulders. "That boss can handle me being late once or twice. I'm pretty good at attendance, she's just always in a bad mood."

Of course, this was all a lie.

Nahlah looked at me in concern, as I said, "I think I'll just stay for the rest of the night. Is that okay?"

There was silence. I twisted myself around a bit to see if she heard me. When I did, she was looking at me from the sink, but quickly smiled, nodding. "Totally. Sure. As long as you'd like."

"Thanks a bunch," I told her, waving my beer. I lounged in my dinner chair. "God, I think I drank too much. Not that I came here in my own car—I used a taxi, got lazy. I'm too tired to leave, anyway."

Nahlah, from what I could hear, hadn't moved from where she was standing. I debated mentally whether or not to turn around and see if she'd done anything, but decided against it. I took another sip and listened to the music. _Pollution_ came on, by the Hippos.

_"I need a solution; too much pollution is in my head. I think about you night and day, I gotta get away, you're always in my head . . .!"_

Shit. My heart was blooming or something.

"Heyyy, I'm kinda getting tired," spoke Nahlah. "Is it okay if I switched the music to _Solitudes_?"

She read my mind. I nodded speechlessly, watching her disappear into the living room. The waves, the chirping, the breezy music and piano bruised into my mind, calming it. I already felt drowsy.

Nahlah stood in the doorway, stuffing her hands awkwardly into her sweatpants. "So, um, where do you want to sleep? The sofa? It's like a mattress, basically."

I thought this out, staring at her softly, reading her expressions, mostly her eyes. I had just told her I wasn't bisexual, and that I wasn't interested in Tony—yet I just invited myself to stay. What _was_ I doing?

Uhh, in all honesty, I didn't like sleeping on soft stuff, besides Merc's sofa at his lair or Drake's chair. The rooftops were seriously once my home. I kinda missed it. But missing all of that was worth it being here with a real friend for once, not just a comrade or a boss.

Nahlah was piercing me with those warm eyes. "Celeste?"

I looked up. "Um, yeah. Sofa's good."

Nahlah, arms folded, pointed toward her bedroom. "I, uh, got some extra night attires. Need any?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

She nodded, looping hair around a finger. "Do you want company—I mean, I don't wanna feel rude."

I nearly snickered, but _I_ didn't want to be rude. "I don't mind. Do whatever you want, it's your box."

Nahlah giggled along. "Right, my box. Okay, I guess we're gonna call it a night. I'll get the blankets."

She left. I made myself comfortable on the far end of the sofa, which was shaped exactly like a normal bed with even a pillow acting like the head posts. The whole sofa was flat-cushioned and right on the floor, it felt like between sleeping on the floor itself or an inflatable mattress. I sat cross-legged, leaning against thick square pillow. Nahlah returned quickly, flipping the lights off dark enough for a good rest to the eyes, then sat next to me. Together, we gave the blanket a nice flutter before spreading it over our laps. Smoothing my part out in front of me, I turned to smile at Nahlah

"Thanks a lot," I murmured. "I had a lot of fun tonight."

Her eyes caught mine. "Yeah. No prob."

Our stare lingered fondly, then Nahlah said, "Night, Cel." She tightened the cover around her shoulder, then flipped onto her side, back facing me. I lay there, staring at her back hazily. Then, I switched my head to my other side. My drowsy consciousness fed onto the soft, swooning music as I fell asleep, my only life just an inch beside me.


	15. The Shard

Chapter 15:

The Shard

At seven in the morning, I awoke. A strange knot twisted inside me. I felt like I was missing something. Quietly but frantically I searched the blankets, looking around the room spilling with dawnlight.

I turned, looking down upon Nahlah. She was on her side, asleep, just like I had left her. Her bushy, wavy hair tumbled lifelessly over her shoulders; bits of brown framed her face, which I removed as cautiously as I could. Her profile was placid, subtle, smooth, and of flawless coffee color. Her face was so still, I could have mistaken her as a close-eyed doll.

I quietly emerged from the covers, making sure she got all the heat as I patted the blanket. She stirred a bit; I froze. When she was quiet again, I tiptoed to her notepad in her purse on the kitchen counter, pulled it out, and wrote:

_Thanks, Nahlah. See ya around. –Celeste_

With a heart. Why not?

I left through the back patio door, dashed across the grassy part of her garden, that which I didn't realize was a Zen Garden. Half of it was choked in white, perfect patterns of sand dunes. A small circle of what one would like to call a pond whispered, a peaceful statue of a mini Buddha smiling lethargically over it. I jumped the fence and ran down the hill, away from Nahlah.

I didn't really know where I was, but I had a hunch I could be near all the part-time jobs Nahlah had. She wouldn't drive to three different places that were far from her house. It just wouldn't make sense. Just as I predicted, I found myself strolling along the main street near New Eden Mall.

The first thing I told myself was to find an alley and get back on the rooftops. Even though I was a Black Neck, it still wasn't normal for my Runner pals to see me down here often. So I slipped into a back parking lot behind a memorial building and started ascending.

On higher rooftops, just as I hauled myself over the Edge, I stood up.

Reagan stood above me.

I nearly ran into her: "Oof! What the—? Reagan?"

She was in her black PK attire, but her mask was off. Holding her mask like a basketball, she gave me a frigid look.

"Where've you been, Cellie?" she interrogated coolly, cocking her head.

I placed a hand on my hip. "What does it matter to you?"

"You're forgetting who backed you up back there last night," she snarled, reminding me of the harbor incident. "The place is in flames, no sign of that Runner, your clothes—and we had to relocate our importations for ammunition. I know Loraine led you away. I had offered you to stay at my place, since I thought comradeship is essential. In any case, Loraine told me you were staying at that Marissa girl's place?"

"Yes. Jealous?" I jeered.

She looked recoiled. "Hell no. Lucky for you, I'm not here to nose in. We're talking about the Shard."

"The Shard?" I queried, severely confused. "Never heard of it."

"We didn't think it'd be a big deal to tell you," said Reagan as she turned, walking. I followed, curious. "But it's kinda like the new 'palace' of the city, Callaghan's throne. We moved most of our operations and PKs into that skyscraper. Look up."

I followed her gaze.

"Ever noticed that big skyscraper?"

"Yeah, every now and then. I remember it being in the process of construction, but never absorbed it, being the Runner I was," I told her.

"That's the Shard. Overlooks the city, rules over the city that will become utopian," she praised dreamily, yet seriously. She sounded like a dreamy villain. "Look, Loraine is more sentimental about your betrayal than I am or you are. She gave you a huge break last night, you should be grateful. So we didn't decide to contact you when things came up."

"Get to the point—what happened?"

"Faith and her sister."

"She got to her sister?" I exclaimed, astonished.

"Yeah. This morning, just twenty minutes ago, Faith sniped the convoy that was carrying her sister to jail," growled Reagan, annoyed. "Shot the patrol cops and truck down, released her sister, misled the cops away while her sister escaped to Merc's. We're sending a team over tonight, but right now we got to fix the damage Faith inflicted on our forces. She really likes to mess with the government."

I grinned in agreement. "Told you."

"We're assembling a strategic approach to Merc's lair. Faith could be there already, for all we know, and Merc could have also assembled an army of Runners. We know we can't take down Faith, but maybe Merc. He's an old man, right?" Reagan looked to me as if for advise.

"Yeah. He's reaching his mid fifties, I guess."

"And he's usually alone, right?"

"Yeah."

God, to save me the torture, they should have attacked him long ago before I joined Project Icarus.

"So, here's the scoop," declared Reagan, running. I followed as we leapt buildings. "I got Vanity, Bullet."

There was static before Pepper's voice calmly exclaimed, "Good. How are you feeling, Vanity?"

"A little tired," I said. "But now that I'm running, I'm wide awake. I had a feeling I was missing something—"

"Yeah, we realized we lost touch of you," said Bullet, "cuz you left your communicator at the New Eden Mall. It's broken, though. That's why Kick's there, to see if you really are where we thought you were."

That concerned me immensely, like a bullet right through the heart. So Reagan really knew where I was?

"Don't sweat it, we don't know your private life," said Reagan, stopping at the Edge, overlooking the morning glow of the city. "With you not having your communicator, we lost your location. Remember, there are trackers in those things. Thus, couldn't figure out which cameras in the whole damn city to turn on."

"What's the deal, though? What am I doing today?" I asked intently.

"What we brought you over to Project Icarus for," defined Pepper. "You're going to go hunt some Runners."

My eyes stretched. Once again I was startled. I had never done this before, unless you wanted to count being chased by PKs, Blues, or other Runners.

"You okay, there, Vanity?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just not used to this new touch to the job," I murmured.

"Well, that was the whole point of Project Icarus from its very birth." Reagan rolled her eyes. "Project Icarus eliminates Runners. Right now we're working on finding Faith, to see if she really is at Merc's or wherever. We know for certain Kate's resting at Merc's. Recently, Merc sent out some Runners to guard the proximities, while he has others go helping Faith escape. Our job is to take down every single Runner."

I nodded silently, throat dry, mind numb with the idea. Dammit, I thought they promised to keep me away from all former comrades as much as possible!

"When we approach Merc's lair," explained Pepper, "we're gonna take him down. If Faith's around, we grab Kate as quick as we can. Once Kate's in our hands, what could Faith possibly do?"

"Geez, that Faith is really getting all the hard blows," whistled Reagan, yet apathetically. "She's running around with our information, along with Runner backup."

"It won't be long. Tonight will be the night," proclaimed Pepper, officially.

"Hold on," I interrupted. "Am . . . I going to be part of the raid on Merc's?"

"No. Raine promised that you wouldn't face close friends," reminded Pepper. "You're just gonna take down any Runners we see."

"It's gonna be fired up, today," said Reagan.

Pepper was typing, then spoke: "Everyone's meeting at the Shard, now. Come on over."

"Right." Reagan nodded, and Pepper signed out. My comrade looked to me. "Ready?"

I nodded somberly. The real world was getting to me again, gradually washing out my fresh memories with Nahlah from last night. It was all a dream—I knew it wasn't, but it felt like it. That heavy, dismal feeling suffocated me. I thought I was going to fall off the Edge.

Reagan nudged me. "Hey? C'mon. Enough spacing—if you want, we'll get some coffee. Maybe even some donuts to make Pep's day."

In silent response, I gave her a short nod. We jumped off for any bakery or late morning restaurant. Afterwards, Reagan said we were heading for the Shard, where most of its new operations were happening.

Standing in the elevator, I watched with astounded boredom as the number in the elevator indicated us passing the _95__h_ floor. _What the?_ This skyscraper was a giant, a god! I wondered furiously how they could bring up all those construction workers, cranes, bulldozers, whatevers up this high to complete the construction.

When the door finally rang and opened, we walked into probably one of the biggest, widest rooms I have ever seen. Most of it was orange carpeted with red, white, black, or orange furniture. One could look all the way around the room, seeing nothing but blue sky out the windows that peered all the way around the skyscraper. A plane flew by, its large rumble muting the whole world out momentarily.

Across from us, Tony and Pepper greeted us.

"Heyyyy, Chickadee!" cried Tony. He looked like he was going to run me down like a bull.

"Tony, no—" began Pepper, but the thug already scooped me up into whatever being crushed was called.

"Morning, sunshine!" sang Tony.

"Tony," I grunted sarcastically. "Affection, please—"

Reagan, surprisingly, smacked him in the back of the head. "Give it a break, Tony. She despises you. She would feed your intestines to the slumbdogs, celebrating on a float in a parade."

Tony dropped me carefully, then turned to Reagan. "Ow, Ray, ow. Ow. Really, Reagan. _Ow_."

"I _would_," I told him flatly, lifting a sharp eye brow.

Pepper snickered under her breath, then smiled calmly at me. "Hey, morning bird."

I fired a look at everyone. "Seriously, stick to one nickname, like that's enough."

"I vote 'Cellie'!" teased Tony, smirking that annoying mouth.

"How about 'bitch'?" jested Reagan, though I narrowly stared at her.

"Guys." It was Loraine. We looked up, seeing she was looking out the large window with four men in black suits, apparently bodyguards: they protectively shaped around some old man.

It was Callaghan.

"Celeste, meet Callaghan," introduced Loraine.

I walked over and shook hands with the bulldog-looking man. He had an intimidating look that would annoy you at the same time: he displayed a sneaky, cynical, yet quiet expression; eyes that sagged like an old dog's—maybe he had a lazy eye—and what appeared to be young wrinkles protecting the pout-like expression I was sure didn't mean any offense. Combed, yet graying hair swept across the baldness of his crown. He was the frowning type, but the lines managed to pull up that frown upside-down.

"Awe, Agent Post, I've heard so much of your accomplishments and loyal duties," said the candidate, giving a gruff smile.

"Hi, Mr. Callaghan," I returned, smiling thinly. Then, I turned to Loraine. "_Agent_ Post?"

"Project Icarus is the highest and newest form of federal security, technically," said Loraine, beaming as if proud of her pupil. "So, in a way, we're nearly like FBI. But no need to take it so seriously, this is only just one city versus the whole United States."

I looked at her. This was all very new and strange.

"Project Icarus, as I established," resumed Callaghan, "is the new and improved police force for Shard City."

"You're changing this city's name?" I declared, bulging my eyes. "Just like that?"

"Yes. Shard is the seat of utopian rule."

"Tyranny, more like it."

Instantly, my boss and comrades snapped their heads at me. Their eyes bulged, silently throwing glares and "shut up" looks at me.

Callaghan only smiled, unharmed by my words. "I understand that you were once a Runner, Agent Post. I do not mind, I know you are still in the transition from being a Pope supporter to a Black Neck."

"Together with Callaghan we're running the Project Icarus operation in which we track and exterminate all Runners," outlined Loraine studiously. "We're working on it as we speak. In the lower floors we have PKs training, men and women alike running the city's cameras; others are tracking Runners as we speak, or suppressing riots and protests."

Callaghan smiled at her, then turned to me. "Do you remember how many Runners there are in this city?"

I shrugged, honestly answering, "Who knows. A lot, I'm sure. Ya never know who to trust."

Callaghan nodded, while my comrades looked at me intently. Loraine spoke to me softly yet cautiously, "Are you sure, Celeste? We can't make any mistakes, we can't miss a single Runner."

I nodded, at the same time saying, "But it doesn't mean even I know anything. Runners are cautious, stealthy people."

"I trust Agent Post's words," said Callaghan, raising his hands to silence everyone. He looked at me with that droopy, yet serious look. "Agent Moss, Agent Heartson, Agent Canon, Agent Coleman—"

"Sir, if you please," interrupted Loraine Heartson, "I am known by the codename Raine; Agent Coleman is by the name Bullet; Agent Canon is Greed; Agent Moss is Kick; and the ex-Runner is Vanity."

Callaghan stared at each and every one of us, then nodded. "Of course, Agent Raine."

"Now if you excuse me, sir," said Loraine, dipping her head slightly. "We are going to initiate the operation."

"It is nice to know who I am working with." Callaghan grasped her hand and they shook firmly. "I want you to send some of your PKs up, along with the SWAT. Here, we'll discuss further approaches to the lair of this Mercury you mentioned earlier."

"I'll have Kick take care of that right now." Loraine nodded to Reagan, who appeared rigid at the command, but obeyed silently.

Wordlessly, we all waved or nodded our heads respectfully. Then, we followed Loraine back to the elevator. Once we entered, Tony turned to me.

"Geez, Cellie, where were you all night?"

I rolled my eyes. "Marissa's."

"Damn, I'd like to seriously check that chick out."

"Not now, Tony."

Loraine folded her arms, sighing. "Today's gonna be rough. Brace yourself, kid," she stressed, looking to me.

I told her strictly, "I'll be fine. And, hey . . . thanks for the big break last night."

"No problem. Just do me a favor," added Loraine, eyeing me. "There are some Blues out there who, regardless, will pick on civilian protestors or Runners. Anyone. They like to abuse their power. Project Icarus tries to suppress this tendency, but since most of the Blues I'm sure will familiarize with you if they see you on the streets, I suggest you try not provoke them."

"I haven't done anything except run away and deliver my messages," I reprimanded, remembering the days when Blues were constantly on my tail.

"Still." Loraine shrugged indifferently. "Some, I bet, will recognize you. If you see them pushing around civilians, don't get yourself involved. You may be Project Icarus, but you're not the police. The Blues are."

"I thought I was technically a federal agent or something?"

"Nah, that doesn't mean you have complete authority over _public_ issues. We work on more of the internal issues of this city, such as the secretive couriers, your Runners," she forbid me. "Public stuff goes to the Blues."

Tony, for once, tried to join the serious conversation. "We need to get you your federal pass, identity, everything you need to be have access to nearly everything."

"Oh, boy." I exhaled. "This is tougher than I thought it would be."

"Well, now that Project Icarus is actually succeeding," pointed out Pepper, "we're actually going somewhere. We wanna push it to the top, be the top of the top. Shard City—an addictive title."

I stared at her and Loraine exchanging tiny triumphant grins. Tony, on the other hand, was watching me.

"What's up, Cel?" he asked quietly. His tone was actually not joking, nor perverted. It was serious, cautious, soft.

I ignored him, still wishing this elevator was at the bottom. Just because I was a Runner didn't mean I liked small places in such a high place.

Pepper and Loraine heard Tony's question and looked at me.

"What is it?" they chorused.

My heart panicked after realizing they were all looking at me. I flicked my eyes from them, but they could go nowhere else. So, exhaling, I looked at them, chiseling each of them individually.

"Loraine, are you married?"

"Of course," she answered immediately. "I have a husband, and two kids." She backfired my considerate stare with her own pale eyes. "Yeah?"

"And you, Pepper?" I continued.

"I have a fiancé," she admitted conservatively, to which Tony elbowed her teasingly. She nagged his hands away with an annoyed wave of her hand.

The last person. I sighed: "Tony?"

He grinned. "You know me, your pimp and all—"

"Answer the simple question."

"I have someone, yeah," he said casually, shrugging. It was a big deal, no matter how casual his expression was.

"Is there someone you're concerned about?" blurted Loraine. "I understand what you're going through, Cel. Whoever it is, you're afraid they may not see you, seeing that Project Icarus is a dangerous operation. Runners are feisty; rebellions are becoming popular; oppression and daily crime are rising. All in the name of the Runners."

My eyebrows knitted together as I stared at her peculiarly. "You saying things have been worse since the Runners have been disappearing?"

"A bit," joined Pepper, nodding, rubbing the nape of her neck. "But it's not bad. Just mainly the clients and their friends and other supporters of Pope causing the ruckus. Anyone who is basically a supporter of Pope will protest anyway."

--

Throughout the day we focused on setting up my new federal profile, basically. I rather wished not to, but they said it was mandatory. Afterwards, we took a break at PK headquarters, training a bit while sitting around discussing tactics against the Runners.

Finally, the Shard's eyes spotted some Runners.

Reagan burst calmly yet hastily into our communicators, "Black Necks, we got some Runners. Northeast end, near the subway seven blocks away. Let's go, let's go!"

For the first time ever, Loraine slipped on her helmet. This was probably my first errand with her by my side. She gave me a thumbs-up. "Let's show 'em, Cel."

I nodded. I led the Black Necks out.

Our first Runner I didn't recognize, so for all I knew he could have been a different Tracker's guy. However, through Jacknife's assurance, he was most certainly a Runner. Pretending to be pizza boy, Jacknife identified him as a former Runner comrade called "Dwell". We poured on him. Sensing danger, and apparently being guided by his own personal Tracker, Dwell dashed.

_With_ his pizza box.

"Looks like his pizza has scores of messages and other important business material hidden," reported Loraine to Reagan over our communicators.

"We got the cameras on—every angle of him," replied Reagan.

We chased him across a street. A car nearly hit him, but he easily jumped over its incoming hood. We dodged it as well. Dwell climbed up the ladders on a telephone pole and leaped onto a rooftop, which was professionally skilled for someone using one hand.

"I have a weird feeling about him," I told everyone on our communicators.

"What's wrong?" asked Reagan.

"Runners don't risk carrying around things that aren't bags," I alarmed. "Shit, he's a decoy! Raine, Greed, search the perimeters. He probably has a comrade—SCRAM!"

Loraine and Tony nodded and halted. They staggered to the left of Dwell, finding the highest ground they could to look out for an extra Runner. Meanwhile, with Pepper and one other PK, we took down Dwell. While the two tazered him, I aimed a gun at him to threaten his halt while they forced his hands behind his back.

"Check the pizza box," I ordered.

While Dwell was restrained by Pepper, the other PK dumped the pizza box. "Nothing," he reported.

"You were right, Vanity!" spoke Loraine. "We caught another Runner. She has a bag."

"That was clever," mused Tony over our comms. I could hear his grunts of efforts to restrain the female Runner. "AH—_oof!_ Why are girl Runners such bitches?"

I grinned. "Yup."

Reagan reported again, "We're sending some PKs after another Runner downtown near the _Lacky's Barber Shop_. Feel free to help, or at least keep the look out. Today's congested with street rats."

We called for nearby Blues to drive by and take away our captured Runners. After the sirens whined in the distance, Tony and Loraine reunited with Pepper and I. We stood there on the Edge, greeting the warm breeze.

"Another pretty day," exclaimed Tony, charmed by the golden light sweeping the city buildings. Next to him, Pepper inhaled a nearby harbor scent, while Loraine redid her braided ponytail.

A sickening emptiness scraped my insides. I tilted upward, supporting an arm on one thigh, leaning on a rail. The sun haunted my skin warmly.

"Don't worry, Cel," murmured Loraine. "You'll get used to it. The more Runners you catch, the more you'll get used to it."

Within the next five minutes, Reagan already reported four more Runners identified or caught. And it was such a blue day.


	16. Shard City

Chapter 16:

Shard City

The whole day I spent running and chasing. Seeing that chasing Runners was still somewhat affecting me, Loraine wanted me to lower to the same level as the Blues for a "rest". That only boiled my blood, though. Cooperating with the Blues heated conflict between us once Loraine introduced my exact identity to some of them. They instantly recognized me, cursing, ignoring me, or giving me the dark eye.

From there, we chased ordinary criminals. I usually tried to refer to these missions by myself or with another random PK, but Loraine was growing furious with me. I argued with her that the problem with working with noisy, know-it-all squads of Blues was loud, confusing, and obvious. A Runner could take down any criminal any second, swiftly and silently—then there were Loraine's warnings about suicide bombers, dangerously and heavily armed bank robbers, or the runaway killers.

"Let's test your anger management," she told me once. "There's a protest at the Serius College for the Arts. Those artsy people are really expressing themselves. Go there, just to give yourself a breather. The Blues are on their way, there."

"Protests are nonviolent and harmless," I snarled. "Why try to stop them?"

"Because they're the ones getting the violent ideas. Go see for yourself."

When Pepper and I reached neighborhood the college was in, we saw a small parade of students with their protests signs flowing from the campus grounds throughout the neighborhood streets.

"Hey, what's going on?" pressed Pepper when she and I approached seven officers trying to intersect with the protestors.

A Blue turned to us, demanding, "Who are you?"

Without saying anything, Pepper showed her ID. The Blues leaned down to take a look. One of them looked at me. "And him?"

I showed mine.

One of them murmured, "Hey, heyyy, I remember you—!"

Pepper stepped in between us. "No_._ We're all one equal terms, now. Let's focus on the college students . . ."

"That bitch nearly kicked my jaw off," he growled, turning around. "You'd think I forget . . ."

"You better not," I muttered, "cuz I could do it again."

Pepper knuckled my shoulder. "Vanity!"

"_What'd_ you say, whore?" The cop whipped around, facing me, face red.

Pepper snapped, "HEY! Didn't you just see my card? Get back to business, we got some protestors to calm down!"

There were some college students who were watching us. One of them pointed and declared, "Whoa? Who are they?"

"Never seen 'em!"

We already heard the snapping sounds of camera phones. Alarmed, the Blues marched to them and demanded confiscation of the cell phones. The students resisted vocally, talking back. This was just what I needed. Some twenty-year-old college boys started backing up their friend, who was arguing with the officer.

Hell. They were pushing the officers. What _was_ it with boys shoving?

Just as Pepper was about to intervene, I rushed to the officer and pushed him aside. "Hey, hey. Let them protest. Don't push back, it's only going to break into a riot."

"Whoa, missy, I _wouldn't_," growled the officer. Effortlessly, he pushed me back. "These boys are the ones who shouldn't be pushing."

"What do you think you're doing, Vanity?" hissed Pepper, pulling my arm. "You're just asking to mess with the Blues, aren't ya? I don't fucking care about your history with them as a Runner, you're PK material, now. Cooperate."

We turned our heads to the sounds of arguing, then slapping. The college boy, in the process of blocking the officer's hands from touching him, had flicked off the shades of the officer who was trying to push him back toward the direction of campus grounds. This pissed off the officer, who apparently misunderstood his reaction, and started grabbing for the college boy's hands.

"Hey, hey, man!" shouted the student. His friends started backing him up, but so did the officer's friends. Three other Blues started holding back the other students. The small parade of students and their families and friends began to enclose the small fray.

"Wow," groaned Pepper. She saw me about to advance, and halted me. "NO, Vanity. Showing oppression is gonna piss the crowd off. The best we can do is give in to them, but not to the extent to make them believe they're winning."

I ignored her. The Blues were getting carried away with pushing back the college students. Their friends were joining.

"Screw you, cops! Down with Callaghan!"

"Don't you have families to consider, not just your jobs!" cursed some teenage girls and their mothers.

"Callaghan's fucked up—hey, watch it, cop!" Blues were trying to push some college girls back.

"Hey, asshole, get your hands off!" condemned their guy friends or male relatives.

"Sir, ma'am, back off—get back to campus," warned the officer. He tried to mow them back passively. I was surprised these cops weren't as forceful as most I've seen.

Pepper clutched my arm firmly. "Vanity, look. Not all Blues are bad. Some of these Blues are the ones who oppose Callaghan, but must obey the law. Just let them handle it. We're only here for backup."

"No, we're here to test my _patience_," I growled. "Loraine, that bitch."

Pepper looked at me through the eye holes of her mask. "Keep it low, Vanity. Forget Loraine. This is all about Shard City. Try not thinking about yourself, for once. Show me what you're capable of."

I glared at her, probably since in a long time, like when we first met.

Seething, I walked toward the college students still trying to passively resist the officers without provoking a riot. Spreading my arms out, I gently pushed or blocked them out along with their family members.

"Step back, _please_. Gentlemen, step back," I cautioned. "I _said_ step back."

I managed to push back some teenage girls and some parents. They simply resisted passively, walking forward, trying to past me, bobbing those protest signs and chanting or yelling at me.

"Callaghan SUCKS!" booed another college boy.

"Son, step back, or we _will_ consider force," advised another officer, agitated.

Pepper joined him, holding them back.

"We're protestors, we can do whatever we want!" shouted some civilians. "What are you going to do, shoot us?"

"We didn't come here to do that," replied an officer honestly. He was holding back another section of the parade. Behind us, more police cars arrived, blocking the roads, sirens flashing. Wow, they really were wasting their time.

A teenage girl punched me in the shoulder poorly. "Callaghan SUCKS!"

I looked at her, then turned to Pepper. "We're Black Necks, not Blues. Let the Blues take care of this, while we chase Runners. I don't want to deal with this."

"Get used to it. You're city law, now," exaggerated Pepper, holding back two older men.

"You're _what_?" shouted the girl I've been trying to contain. Her eyes flared at me. "You've been _catching_ the _Runners_?"

Pepper stared me. "Just ignore her."

The girl pounded on my collarbone, which was armored with soft pads. "What are you doing with our Runners!?"

Others joined. "_What_? The Runners? What are they doing with the Runners?"

"Hey, ass-hat, answer us!" demanded another of the girl's friends.

It never ended. It was like trying to get into a pointless argument you knew would have no resolve anyway. Why did humans thrive on confrontation—it's like they use it for an excuse to hurt someone out of pleasure.

On my far left, an officer was difficulty with an obdurate college boy. He was threatening the officer: "Get out of my way, Callaghan spawn!"

I found myself watching him silently, while still trying to prevent further advancement of the protestors.

Suddenly the Blue lost his nerve. As the college boy tried pushing him again, the Blue pushed him harder, enough to piss the boy off. The student suddenly rammed himself into the officer without warning. Another Blue tried to take him off, but the college boy got his backup. Two other Blues looked like they were struggling to decide whether to back up their comrades or maintain their part of the crowd. Pepper and I were looking at each other through our eye holes quietly, maintaining our part.

"No, Vanity," she whispered.

Our part of the crowd suddenly turned in over on the Blues trying to control the pissed college boy.

God dammit.

The Blue suddenly punched the boy in the stomach, not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to force him back. Just as the boy recovered, he had that look in his eyes that alarmed me.

"_Stop_ it," I demanded as I dashed over, blocking the boy from ramming himself into the cop. His arms thrashed around me as I shielded him off. I pushed him away gently; he snapped, "Don't TOUCH me!"

I pulled out my gun and aimed.

The crowd fell silently briefly before bursting out, "WHAT THE HELL'S YOUR PROBLEM?"

The boy looked right at the death hole aiming between his eyes.

"It's simple," I told him coolly, yet my voice shook. "Calm down, and return to campus. We don't have to do this."

"_Do_ it!" he exhorted.

I ended up staring at him over my gun, speechless.

"HEY!" A girl from earlier pushed me with her sign. "Leave my brother alone!"

A Blue grabbed her, pushing her back effortlessly. "Get _back_, ma'am!"

My eyes caught hold of what her sign read:

_CALLAGHAN DISAPPROVES MY GIRLFRIEND._

"Vanity!"

The girl's guy friends grew furious already and started joining her as they pushed the cop away.

"Vanity!"

Pepper grabbed my arm and pulled me away, three Blues replacing us. I stared over my shoulders at the girl who was forced to join the brother I aimed my gun at, along with some of their friends and families. The crowd was pushed back by excessive police force. Pepper was still pulling me away toward the rear of all the police cars.

When we were far from the protestors, Pepper slapped off her mask. "What's with you? Slap out of it!"

She pressed me against the car. I stared at her. "This is fucked _up_, Pepper!"

Her force distorted into anger as she shook my shoulders briefly. "I know you're pissed. You're not used to this. But keep at it, hold your ground, and you'll be fine. Now you know _why_ we need to achieve utopian, peaceful order in this city."

I pointed back at the crowd just as she turned to depart. "Pep! That girl—she has a girlfriend! Don't tell me Callaghan's turning down homosexuals' dignity, freedom, and rights as human beings!"

She whipped around when I caught up with her. "Oh, _now_ you notice?"

I paused, staring at her.

"It's been like this for _three_ years, Cel," she spat. "Or were you that selfish of a Runner to realize that?"

Waiting impatiently for my reaction, she gave me a last look before turning around, forcing her mask back on. "C'mon, Loraine wants us—"

"What are you talking about?" I shouted after her. She paused again, but didn't turn around. "_You're_ the one supporting Callaghan! You oppose homosexuals? Or what about those disabled people in the protest crowd—he's against them, too? What is this_, V For Vendetta_?"

Pepper slowly turned around, glaring at me through a mask in which she wasn't Pepper anymore, whoever that was before she joined Project Icarus.

"I'm sick of it, too, Cel," she whispered. "But, it's too late. But do realize bloodshed is necessary to achieve higher ground. Just like in the World Wars. We could achieve a utopian world in which no one can ever get hurt. Physically, mentally, or emotionally."

"Utopian? _Killing_, discrimination, stereotypes, constant criminals?" I reminded her.

"It is not our fault the citizens won't listen," she snapped. "As for the criminals, they're not just ordinary criminals. They like to call themselves terrorists, even though they're not—people who are deliberately opposing Callaghan's forces through terrorist attacks on their own fellow citizens. They're trying to make their point that no police force or Callaghan can stop them or change this city. Now do you want to leave or _what_?"

I swallowed my anger down, hard, glowering after her. "And what about that boy with autism in the arms of his mother, a protestor? Don't you ever look at who you're hurting? Just because Project Icarus is for the greater good doesn't mean it makes it right. Dammit, Pepper, that could be _your_ family back there!"

Pepper was cold silent. Then, she ran off, just like I would have long ago. But not today: I wasn't a Runner. I didn't run away from a black deed I committed like that anymore.

--

"Bank robbers or runaway prisoners, I can take—but no protests," I stormed as I walked by Tony.

With Loraine, they met Pep and I back at the Shard. It was four in the afternoon. The sun was just sinking solemnly. Whatever bloodshed occurred without my knowledge around this city, I was sure it was going to match perfectly with the eclipse-like sunset. And tomorrow would be another day, fresh and new, but with new blood.

"Celeste, what do you want from us?" whispered Loraine, who noticed Pepper's silent pang. "We understand this shocks you, but get used to it. We were just like you when we first joined."

_"Really?"_ I scowled at them. "Are you just advising that, like you, I should just get _used_ to it? And you call this crime-fighting."

"Celeste, do you want a break? It _is_ your first day," soothed Tony, but Loraine hushed him.

"No, she's gonna take it. Gotta face reality."

Loraine walked toward me as I lashed my hair out of my elastic band. I smoothed out my hair, matting the sweat that built up out of stress.

"Celeste, you're gonna hate me . . . but I want you to chase down a runaway thief. He had held three hostages at a bank, shot two of them and injured one, and is on the loose as we speak. Take him down. For you see, _this_ is why we exist. To stop guys like him. We would hate it if those hostages killed were _our_ family."

For the first time in a long time, my dirty-blonde hair was in tangles, dangling in front of my face. I glared up at Loraine silently, like a teenager in furious thought.

Loraine's tone was low, serious, and lecturing. "Get it through your head. This isn't about you anymore. I admit, maybe life was better as a Runner for you back then, when you didn't have to concern yourselves with the public. But now that you joined Project Icarus, it is about everyone: comrades, civilians, the city, and that person you hold dearly."

Tony and Pepper looked from her to me, wide-eyed. For the first time, I hated Loraine.

Loraine gave me her own fresh look. "Don't give me that. You're the one who revealed how much she meant to you, that Marissa girl?"

"You promised she wouldn't be endangered," I snapped quietly and instantly.

"I still keep my promise. But, Cel, get your act together, do what Project Icarus demands of you, and everyone—including Marissa—will be safe. That's why you joined Project Icarus, isn't it? For _her_, right?"

Tony stepped in between our boss and me. Looking at her strangely yet heavily, he then turned to me. "C'mon, Cel. Let's go."

I followed him wordlessly, never engaging eye contact with Loraine or Pepper. I dragged my mask along, while slowly and blankly pulling my hair back into a ponytail. Following Tony, we both jumped off the rooftop.

When Tony and I tracked down that runaway thief, he had two more hostages caught. Cursing as we stood outside the restaurant, Tony and I stayed low, police backup behind us. Blues got out of their cars, aiming guns or taking cover, along with the SWAT team.

"Okay, there's some vents we can break into," Tony told me. "The guy's hiding behind the food counter. We'll take him from both sides. Wanna be the distraction?"

"I know vents more than any of you Black Necks," I advised. "You be the distraction."

He gave a pause. "Umm, that went differently in my head, but okay—!"

I retreated behind police lines, then disappeared into the alley of nearby buildings. Climbing up their side pipes, I made it to the rooftop, jumped over onto the restaurant's roof, found the entrance to the internal vents, and climbed through. When I got inside, I hid behind the corner, with the armed man holding a hostage with him behind the food counter. Tony entered with two heavily black-armored SWAT cops. Within a minute, I took him out from behind.

When he was arrested and all hostages taken out, we got another buzz from Reagan, this time.

"Runaway prisoner. Drag your asses over there. Harmony Street, several blocks west," she guided hastily.

"Go the _fuck_ away," I growled.

"C'mon, the sooner, the better, Cel!" urged Tony sympathetically.

--

I quit for the day. Without a word, I abandoned Loraine and Pepper in the middle of a chase after two armed men. They had cars, what did they need "Pursuit Kops" for?

I ran, but I was sick of running, too. It was all I ever seemed to do. Slowing down, I slipped into a public bathroom when no one was around. Only the Shard's city cameras would have seen me enter.

I discarded my white attire, my full-out black attire the only thing exposed. I pulled at the black turtleneck choking me, sweating. It added to the frustration and tension burning my skin. I wanted to strip it all off, but I had nothing else with me.

I heard the entrance to the women's bathroom creak open. Seeing that I was sitting in one of the stalls on the closed toilet, I scooped up my belongings silently, waiting for the woman to leave.

There was a pause, then a voice spoke, "I got you some clothes."

"TONY," I exploded, "this is the _women's_ bathroom, aren't you educated?"

"Calm down, Chickadee, do you want your clothes or what? Are you done with the loo? Cuz it won't be long until some chick walks in."

"You could have waited outside and told me that," I snapped, lowering my head toward my lap, twisting the bits of my hair.

It was hushed again until Tony murmured, "You don't have to lock it all inside a bathroom stall, Cel. Wanna talk about it? I know it's frustrating and sad and all, but—"

"Yet you still do it," I finished for him, my voice echoing. I sounded ridiculous.

"Look around you, Cel. The world's changing. Adapt to it, stop living on the Edge, in the past." Tony sighed huskily. "If you can't adapt, you won't survive."

"I thought you promised that I'd be able to 'live' if I joined Project Icarus," I corrected him harshly. "Not survive."

"Yeah, but you're kinda making it hard for us."

I raised my head, glaring through the stall door at what I hoped was his brain.

"I'm not saying 'give in', I'm just saying, adapt. Then, it won't be as hard on you. In time, you'll be able to shield yourself from it if it ever bothers you." Tony clicked the tiled floor with what sounded like fresh shoes he changed into. "C'mon, Cel. Let's take you home. It's getting dark out. You should rest. If any of the others try to bother you, I'll bark them off, okay?"

I stared blankly at the floor. Feeling drained, I clung to my PK attire lifelessly.

"Celeste?" Then, the door opened. Tony looked down at me, as if he'd found a lost, injured puppy: a startled, yet soft glow replaced his eyes. He took my clothes from my grasp, replacing them with fresh new ones, and closed the door.

When I finished changing into the plain sweatshirt, tanktop, and jeans he provided me, he walked me to a parking lot. There, he opened a door to a car and gestured me inside.

"You have a car?" I asked him wearily, yet shocked.

He chuckled. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_, that, Runner?"

"Ya, but I barely use my car."

"Hey, I'm a Black Neck, of course I'll have a car. Aren't I allowed to act normal some time?"

I stared at him, a puzzled, dim look in my eyes. He stared at me, too, then shyly restrained a smile as he ruffled his prickly hair. "C'mon, get inside. No more running. Just resting."

Without force, I, for once, smiled at him. "Thanks, Tony."

I entered the passenger's seat. He closed it, then drove us away.

In the car, I asked, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"I dunno, is there any place you'd prefer, since you technically don't have a home, seeing that it was once Merc's or Drake's?" he murmured.

My weary thoughts lingered until they grasped onto a certain location.

"_Spa&Soul."_

He turned to me. "Seriously? You really love massages, or that place, for that matter. And it looks like you're on friendly terms with that brunette chick, too."

"I just want a damn massage," I told him weakly, leaning against the window.

I could sense his eyes on me, until he said, "Ok, _Spa&Soul_ it is." When we got there, Tony asked before I slipped out, "How long will it be? Should I just wait, here?"

"Doesn't Loraine want you doing Icarus bullshit?" I asked him, squinting at him curiously.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling, looking out his window. "But that's an ambush randomly planned. It really depends on our preparation plans. We could attack Merc's now, for all we know, or later at night. We don't know."

I nodded barely, before we looked at each other. Feeling strange, I unlocked our stare and said, "Thanks, again, Tony. I'll come back quickly to tell you whether or not it'll be a long massage."

"Hey," he said before I took off. "Loraine promised she'd pay for your next massage, but it's on me. And get some damn rest, you look like some dead hooker who got murdered by a jealous client."

I looked at him as he grinned that crooked, normal grin. I had to admit, I missed it, because his sudden softness had really thrown me into a wondering state. He waved briefly as I shut the door, thanking him.


	17. Gains and Losses

Chapter 17:

Gains and Losses

When I entered, I prayed with all my being that Nahlah was here. My disappointment attacked me when I only ran into Seth and Gregor. They smiled and said hi to me.

"Hey, um, where's Nahlah?" I whispered politely, seeing that they had some patients that I barged in on.

"She's at _Soulier_," replied Seth.

"Thanks."

I left, racing to Tony's car.

"What's up?" he asked, concerned at my hurried look.

"Marissa. She called."

"You have a cell phone? Since when?"

"No, no. She's a daily visitor at _Spa&Soul_. Very close to the people who work there, actually. She called there, wondering if I was there. They told me she'd like to see me downtown to hang."

"I thought you were going to rest," said Tony as he twisted the ignition, then backed the car up.

"Marissa and I will just bar it out at a club or something," I lied, sitting comfortably into the passenger's seat.

"Getting drunk is your resolve to stress?" prodded Tony, grinning. "Ha, I'm not one to drink considering how it'll drag me down during duty, but maybe I'll come along some time. Meet Marissa, have fun with you guys, get drunk. All that jazz and the stuff that follows."

I leaned over to slap at his perverted joke, nearly breaking his concentration off the road. He excused his joke by roaring, "_Road_, Cel!"

After calming down, chuckling together, he asked, "So, where downtown?"

"Anywhere, I guess."

"Okay . . ."

He dropped me off at the memorial fountain where we once bought ice-cream from Nahlah. From there, I thanked him, closing the door. As I walked away, expecting him to drive away, he called from his driver's window.

"Don't I get a peck on the cheek?" he joked, tapping his face.

I turned and gave him a look, shaking my head. "Hell no. Your face is a jungle. If you want a peck, I may feel tempted to throw a pigeon at you or something."

He laughed, retreating back into his seat. "I'll see ya later, then?"

I smiled goofily at him, then, it melted into a softer one as we smiled for a long time at each other, until he rolled up his window to the chilly evening.

Someone was here to try to make me smile, at least, instead like Loraine and Pepper were trying to pull. It was ironic that they were the ones that flustered me instead of Reagan or Tony.

When I watched Tony's car disappear, I turned the opposite direction I had been walking, heading for _Soulier_. I was hoping I would catch Nahlah in case she suddenly wasn't there. My legs were anchored and tensed with exhaustion from all that running today.

Twilight followed me by the time I reached the shoe store. Inside, Nahlah was just saying good-bye to a co-worker, who walked past me. When Nahlah's eyes followed after her friend, she saw me.

"Celeste!" she gasped, but smiled.

I stood there, so glad she was here. I must have looked weary and horrible, however, because her face fell as she squinted curiously at me.

"Celeste? Are you okay?"

She walked around the counter, already meeting me halfway. She stopped suddenly in front of me, putting her hand barely on my arm, and sweeping back my bangs that have been loose in front of my face, lately.

"Celeste. . ." she whispered. "What happened to you? You look exhausted—"

I smiled weakly, shaking my head as if in disbelief at myself. "Do I, really? Heh, sorry. I, um . . . just had a stressing day . . ."

She looked at me as my eyes wandered into a gloomy oblivion. "Do you . . . wanna sit down and talk?"

I couldn't help it. My lips were quivering all of a sudden. I tried to stop them by smoothly smacking my lips, swallowing, and sniffling. Then, I looked away, blinded by salty tears. I wasn't aware when Nahlah took my hand and dragged me over to a chair. She sat me down, then leaned toward me.

"Celeste . . . Hey . . .?" she hushed.

Two customers walked in, but when they saw us, they left. Nahlah tried to stop them and tell them it was fine, but they smiled weakly and proceeded out of sight. But she didn't care. Turning to me, Nahlah stared, folding her arms uncertainly.

I was staring out the window, through the shoes on the display shelves. Tears had stained my face clearly and sweetly; they felt so soft and consoling, I just let them linger.

A finger swept them away as Nahlah gently turned my head toward her by my chin. I looked into her eyes, only her eyes. I caught her smile before she engulfed me into a huge hug.

It was just what I needed.

It was tight and immersed, like a blanket, only more solid. At the same time, it was so gentle. If it had been Tony, I would have been crushed and dying, rather than feeling like I was alive.

I knew that feeling was there. That was all I need to know.

I accepted her hug. I held onto her more than she held on to me, pressing her harder against me. My face disappeared into her long, thick hair, but I welcomed the scent of shampoo, even though it tickled my nose. I sniffled. Then, when we parted. I wiped the tears from my face, which Nahlah helped me with.

"Here," she began, pulling me out of my chair. "There's a back room. You can rest there."

She led me back into the employee's room: small, with a small table and cushioned chairs. Nahlah took her coat and laid it across me; I embedded myself into a heavy sleep with the perfume from her coat dragging me deeper. Every now and then I felt her hand stroking my hair behind my ears as I slipped in and out of sleep.

I dreamt of that girl again from the protest. She became Nahlah, only this time she was shot. By me.

When I awoke, Nahlah came back from closing the shop for the day. It was 5:00 in the evening. She led me to her car parked at a curb on the main street just across from _Soulier_. Some joggers and pedestrians were around, otherwise, this side part of the city was pretty numb in silence.

I fell asleep again in her passenger's seat. When I awoke, we were already at her box. Nahlah's hand gently shook my shoulder to keep me from falling asleep. She giggled; I heard some faint comment about me being like a child or something. When I finally agreed to awake, we entered inside.

"Here, let's just take you to bed," insisted Nahlah.

"Thanks. Yeah, I could use it." Weakly, I obeyed, her close behind me. I collapsed right on her bed, hugging a pillow to my face like a teddy bear. She was quietly studying me carefully and protectively from behind, I could tell.

In the doorway, she murmured nervously, "Cel . . . just, sleep."

I admit, I was acting like a wasted, overwhelmed, dramatic girl—but people just had to turn to someone. Nahlah was the only person I was comfortable enough relying on for quiet comfort. I know it's only been a week or so since we've met, but even though we weren't close enough, we were enough to understand each other.

I didn't know why one day on real PK duty nauseated me. But it did, and there I was like a child who got into a fight.

I heard Iron and Wine's song, _Such Great Heights_, sighing in the living room. Its soft lullaby-like mood reached my ears, sending me off easily into a light slumber. Again, in and out of sleep, I once felt a velvet blanket draped over me like fluttering, soft wings. I also heard faint details of the news; Nahlah must have turned the TV on.

What felt like seconds later, I awoke. I felt light and more awake—but most definitely drained, but as if refreshed, as if I was a whole new.

Quietly, I got up and walked to the living room, wondering where Nahlah was. I hadn't heard any noise from her besides the TV, so I assumed she was still watching the news. She told me she barely watched TV, so I knew something big was roping her attention.

When I leaned against the entrance to the living room, Nahlah looked up from the TV to me.

"Cel . . .!" She smiled, but I noticed how strange her smile was.

I gave her a closer look. "What did the news say?"

She gave a quick, short shake of her head, smiling dimly. "It's nothing." Getting up, she ignored the TV, walking worriedly toward me.

"But how are you feeling?" Hesitantly, her hands reached for mine, but held themselves back as she paid more attention to my drained face.

I wiped my eyes from the sleep. "I feel better," I admitted, smiling gratefully.

She still observed me close. "You sure? Because that back an hour and a half ago was not good."

"An hour and a half? I was out that long?" I stared.

She smiled. "You're surprised?"

I shook my head, shrugging, stuttering, "Well, I—no, no. It's just—I dunno, I feel like a child."

The brunette gave a warm spread of her lips. "Don't worry about it. I'm . . . I'm just glad you came to me. Do you, um, wanna talk about it? Or just chill?"

For some reason, my head was pulled by the TV. Instantly, the news was already displaying the protests and the riots in other parts of "Shard City" I hadn't heard of. The TV suddenly switched off the moment I saw a familiar white figure in front of a crowd.

I turned to Nahlah with a questioning look. She put down the remote control.

"I've had enough," she said shakily. Then, she sat down, folding her hands in her lap as she looked up at me, disguising the preoccupied look in her eyes with her usual smile.

"It's my turn," I said sternly, "what's wrong?"

"News. Now I remember why I don't watch them," she said, chuckling in an attempted joking manner.

My mind rewound to the white figure on the TV screen.

I felt my brow tense tightly. ". . . You saw the protests, didn't you?"

She looked right at me.

"And the girl with her sign . . .?" I managed to murmur unwillingly.

Nahlah's eyebrows hooded her blue orbs as she whispered, "Is . . . that's what upset you?"

"Of course it did," I blurted without wanting to admit in the first place. My gut felt like it just exploded from the awkward, yet concerning concept.

"Celeste?" she said louder, looking at me.

I couldn't find the muscle strings that controlled my feet. I wouldn't budge. I felt naked, standing there. ". . . Yeah, of course I saw . . ."

". . . Celeste . . ." pleaded Nahlah, hushed.

I joined her on the sofa. We both leaned toward each other attentively. After a moment of me trying to gather my breath and her staring at me eagerly, I exhaled. My breath gasped or shuddered as I tried to hold back the cracking sobs in my throat:

". . . I couldn't help but . . . think of you when I saw that protestor," I whispered.

Nahlah's face seemed to glow, but at the same time the eyes lit up with pain. She gave a slight frown as she listened, eyes searching me. I felt the muscles in my neck tighten and strain while my throat itself was a stinging lump. My nose stung, too, as I felt the corner of my eyes get wet. Nahlah became another dreamlike blur when she leaned forward and hugged me.

I never really have been hugged . . . Tony didn't count . . . No, never like this. Because I didn't hug back, even though I was enjoying the very feel of it. Silently, though I was sniffling, I stared at what I could, Nahlah's hair, since her chin was on my shoulder. It was like a cushioned pillow or something. Very comforting. And I really loved it. Every time I didn't feel it, I missed it terribly.

"So it _wasn't_ work?" whispered Nahlah as my hands slowly hesitated to return the hug.

My hands stopped mid-air.

_No_. I couldn't afford getting so close. There was something in Loraine's voice, I recalled, that scared me. I didn't trust her, all of a sudden.

_No, Nahlah . . ._

Gently but with a comprehensible meaning behind it, I pushed her shoulders away. Nahlah's eyes seemed to gasp as she gave me a very hurt, confused look. My hands were still in front of me, almost in a protective manner, as I stared at her and at myself, just as stunned.

_But . . . I'm with Project Icarus? What did anything matter? As long as I obey Project Icarus, Nahlah won't be taken from me emotionally or physically. _

Nahlah's lips looked like they were going to shape the question, "What's wrong?" Her eyes were glued to me poisonously it hurt just looking at them. They weren't pale and welcoming anymore; I looked down, away from them.

_You joined Project Icarus for HER, remember?_

The realization slowly descended on me just like a burden did. I looked up at Nahlah, who was still giving a confused, hurt expression.

"Celeste," she finally whispered. Her eyes lowered. ". . . It's okay."

"What's okay?" I demanded softly, eyes still averted.

"I dunno what's going on your mind right now. But whatever it is, it'll be okay."

I looked at her. Grabbing her opportunity, she held my gaze fiercely yet compassionately. "What?" I asked slightly louder.

"That protestor, everyone, will be okay. I'll be okay, if that's what you're so worried about," she said, her face softening into a smooth, flawless smile.

I gave her some shocked expression to which she gave an even bigger smile.

"Thank you for your concern, Celeste," murmured Nahlah.

Then, her hand slid slowly across the sofa toward mine. She tangled them into my own, then gently squeezed them. As I was forced to stare from them to her eyes, she glowed at me. Because of her eyes, I hadn't realized she was tilting closer into me.

The phone rang.

I looked up at her after realizing how close our faces were. Our eyes grasped each other, then nervously we averted them. Next, confused, Nahlah retrieved the phone from where she kept her albums and iPod stereo—leaving me staring into wonder.

"Zvarova's?"

Pause.

"Tony?"

My head jerked to where she stood. She turned to me, face silently wide-eyed at me as she tried to focus on Tony's voice. Instantly, I shook my head, gesturing frantically as if I couldn't communicate right. Nahlah, after a few seconds, understood what I was trying to convince her.

". . . I don't know who you are, sir. You probably have the wrong number," said Nahlah. Another pause, then she hung up and turned to me. "Huh . . . Tony."

I was just as confused. "How'd he get your number?" I nearly shouted, alarmed. I shot onto my feet.

Nahlah shrugged. "He said he found my number in his car."

I felt my face sag with total self-hatred and shock. "SHIT," I hissed, turning around and firmly planting my hands against my hips. I paced toward the wall, then turned around.

Nahlah wasn't sure how to react, either. "What? Is that a problem?"

"He's going to stalk me now," I reminded her.

Remembering Tony at _Spa&Soul,_ Nahlah slowly grinned. Then, she nearly laughed. I glared at her.

"It's _not_ funny, nor is he," I snapped, frustrated. "I don't want him knowing that you're 'Marissa'! Nor do I want him knowing it's you I've been seeing."

"What do you mean by that?" she teased.

I wasn't in the mood all of a sudden. I folded my arms, staring at her as gently as I could. "You know the consequences. One, he's a pervert. Two, he likes me. Three, he'll bother us, invade _our_ time."

To my last sentence, Nahlah looked at me, silent. Subconsciously, she withdrew her arms behind her back, folding them. Sensing her silence, I looked at her questioningly.

"So tell him," she spoke.

I stared. "Tell him what?"

"About us."

Us? What the _hell_?

"_Us?_ What do you mean, us—_No_, I—what do you mean? No, I can't."

_You're so convincing, Celeste._

Nahlah looked at me, nearly raising an eyebrow that kind of threw me off.

"He's a pervert," I reminded her. That summed it up; Nahlah nodded, smiling to herself, yet shyly.

I gave her a look. ". . . Nahlah . . . I told you. I'm not . . ."

She nodded quickly right before I could finish, not that I was gonna finish the sentence. However, her face did scrunch into a confused expression as she looked at up me. "Why were you so concerned about that protestor, then?"

I told her the truth. "Because she could have been you. I don't care who you are, Nahlah . . . besides, it's wrong. What Callaghan's doing, and the Blues, everything."

"Then join me and my friends on a protest."

_"What?"_

_This is not what I had been aiming for._ Shit, I couldn't. This was coming out of nowhere.

"No . . . NO. What are you _thinking_?" I stepped toward her, gesturing toward outside. "Didn't you just see what happened? They nearly killed that girl and her friends and family . . ."

I _nearly killed that girl . . ._

Nahlah's face fell, once again stunned by my confusing mood swings. "What? I thought you didn't care—I mean, you did care—?"

"I do, I do," I reassured her. I found myself approaching her sternly, glaring with concern down right at her. She was only a head shorter than me. "You know what I mean. It's dangerous. I can't believe you're considering this. You could get killed."

"I know that," she fought back. I didn't like the tone in her soft voice: an undying, ambitious spirit. "You don't have to join me, but don't stop me. I don't care what you do."

_She didn't mean that._

_Shit_. I couldn't protect her like I thought I could. We were opposite forces. Could Project Icarus prevent _this_? It was the very force that was holding back people like her. How could I solve that?

"Nahlah," I began.

She folded her arms, waiting. To keep myself from shaking her by the shoulders, I put a self-destructive fist on my hip.

"It's not safe," I finished.

Her eyebrows bobbed briefly, pronouncing those warm eyes. "Oh? _Now_ you care about me?"

. . . What did I say to _that_?

I sighed, shaking my head as if that would reorganize my thoughts and feelings. "No. I do care. Aren't . . . we friends . . .?"

"That's very touching, Cel," she said softly, but her eyes were a fierce fire. "Especially since it's only been a week or so since we've met . . ."

I stared, wondering where this was going.

"But," she began, exhaling with exaggeration, "since you're begging, I guess it won't hurt for the meantime."

"For the _meantime_?"

"I dunno. For now, for your sake, I won't protest unless things _do_ become serious. I guess." She sounded so disappointed to not be able to support her homosexual fellows. I didn't care whether she could or not—I didn't want her to be in those crowds where I'd be.

Hell, now I knew why I had to master this whole Project Icarus authority over the public.

"But you have to promise me something." Nahlah's face grew soft, yet her eyes were firm, as if searching.

Oh shit. What was she going to ask for, a kiss?

I stared at her, those stupid butterflies impaling my gut inside out. Once again, I was frozen in place. I couldn't budge. Nahlah trapped me with that gripping blue light. She smiled.

"There are these flowers I've always wanted," she announced, grinning. "But they're too expensive."

I just stared at her, eyebrows furrowing quizzically. "Uh . . .?"

"They're called Belladonna Lilies. They would go perfect with my dining table," she told me casually, but I hinted the grin in her eyes, arms crossed triumphantly.

The breath I held finally washed out. She nearly giggled at my shaky state. Without another word, she grabbed her coat and walked to the door.

Nahlah turned to me. "C'mon. _Flora's Floras_ flower shop closes at 8:00. You're getting me those white lilies."

_You're kidding me._

I just gawked at her. My jaw was probably on the floor.

Nahlah gestured out the door. "C'mon, Cel. I'll drive. Then, I was thinking about a stroll in the park or something?"

_Thinking?_ It was more like a command.

I raised an eyebrow at her. It was strange. She was so shy and uncertain before, now she was acting like she had already won.

I finally rolled my eyes, slipping out of my curious state. I followed Nahlah, who closed the door behind us, locked it, and drove us away.

--

This city had crazy-named shops, _Flora's Floras_ being one of them.

"Doesn't _flora_ mean 'flower' in Spanish?" I asked Nahlah, considering she was part Mexican or something.

We were in a greenhouse downtown. Though Nahlah had already chosen the Belladonna Lilies, she was still sniffing and admiring all sorts of bouquets. I silently tread behind her, hands in my pockets.

"Yeah," answered Nahlah, twirling a sunset-colored flower.

"So, _Flower's Flowers_?" That was me trying to literally translate the name of the flower shop.

Nahlah laughed. "I don't blame you. I'm sure everyone thinks that. But, yeah, Flora is a common Spanish name."

I gave a thoughtful "hm" as we slowly walked the whole shop. "Ya know, I think that name would have suited you better."

Nahlah slowed down, then turned to me, grinning. _"Thanks."_

I waved my hands protectively. "No offense."

"Well, I was thinking 'Alex' would have suited you," she backfired.

I nodded, frowning in agreement. "Yeah . . ."

I was quite surprised she had a liking to flowers, but then again I shouldn't have, recalling our quick topic about our favorite flowers back at _Spa&Soul._ It was ironic, though, because Nahlah didn't have any flowers in her box except for that one on her bathroom sink, which was in a very small bathroom.

"Are you done, yet? We came here just for the lilies," I nagged.

After leaning down to check out another bouquet of flowers, Nahlah straightened up and turned to me. "Right, sorry. They're just so pretty."

I smiled, shaking my head. "It's fine. Let's just go before it gets chilly out or something."

She nodded barely, but cutely. I paid for the lilies. When we walked out, I handed the bouquet to her. "I'm not holding them," I clarified.

"Oh, how thoughtful, thank you, Cel," she joked, accepting them.

I stared at her, then smirked. I was going to say something, but held against it. Nahlah, meanwhile, had been holding the bouquet wrapped in protective, fancy plastic. She coiled her fingers around a particular lily and smelt it, then smiled up at me.

I thought I was having a heart-attack. We ended up looking at each other. Then, I looked away, clearing my throat. As if to contain my heart that felt like it was trying to murder itself, I hugged myself as we walked slowly side-by-side toward her car parked up ahead.

"Let me just put this in the car," Nahlah told me. Afterwards, she led me to the park where I saw her for the second time. It was funny how a familiar, yet rare place like the park, for me, suddenly came up more often in my life.

As we sauntered along a path, Nahlah asked me after a long period of awkward silence, "So, how did Tony end up with my number? You decided to share me with your friends?"

"I wouldn't call him a friend," I corrected her, looking up at the sky somewhat visible through the city's head. "He's just a lecherous co-worker. And, unfortunately, I think your number fell out of my pocket when he dropped me off downtown before I came to your box."

"My _box_," she chuckled, then went back on track. "I feel honored that you carry my address around."

"NO," I began, as if offended, "it's just that I've only been to your place once. I was afraid I'd forget the address."

"Well, now that Tony knows I'm someone you're close with, he's bound to come chasing you down with questions. He has my info staring at him from the seat of his car, I don't blame him. Seeing that I wrote my last name only, he probably thought I was a guy. Might as well admit to him that we've been hanging out before he gets all _jealous_ on you. But obviously," she added quickly and cautiously, "don't let him know . . . ya know, about me."

"Yeah, that'd turn him on," I agreed sarcastically. I sighed. "Damn. If he didn't exist, everything would be fine."

"Thennn, I guess he likes you," said Nahlah.

I looked at her to see how her words matched her face. She was smiling in thought, face looking at the white city flowers embroidering the park's paths. They were lit by some city lamp posts.

"I told you," I convinced, "I don't like him."

"One of these days he'll ask you out, I can see it. I've seen men. I have friends, both guys and girls—Tony likes you."

_Okay, I_ got _it, Nahlah_.

I don't know. Just talking about this made me feel uneasy, and angry at the same time. A knot whined again inside me, almost like hunger-pain, but worst.

"Um . . . I'd rather not talk about Tony," I told her finally, turning to her.

She looked at me, face absorbing the shocking impact, then looked away with several nods. "Yeah, sorry. Right. Sorry."

I shrugged. "No, it's fine—I just had enough with him for one day."

"Thanks, Cel."

"TONY?" I craned my eyes, seeing the familiar bulgy figure of Tony's ahead of us. He was approaching us. In his eyes, I read something was up. "What are you doing here?"

"Stalking you, the usual." He shrugged casually, but grinned haughtily. "Any way, boss's being a witch again. We gotta go."

"Always late at night," marveled Nahlah, looking from Tony to me.

My fist went on my hip. "Again? Seriously. Is that big of a deal to the point of sending you all the way downtown to find me? And, wait, how'd you know where I was?"

Nahlah looked from me to Tony.

"Ahhh, not now Cel," said Tony. "C'mon, we gotta go. I'm basically your lover now."

Something chilly snaked all the way through me from shoulders to toes. "Stop doing that, Tony." I glared.

"What? Do my words _arouse_ you?"

I saw Nahlah take a step forward, but she held herself. Finally, Tony, being the delayed one, gave her a closer look.

"Hey, the _Spa&Soul_ woman!" He grinned widely. I rolled my eyes, while Nahlah smiled awkwardly. "Nahlah, right? What are you two doing together? Did you decide that I was right and that you'd make a hot couple?"

I was about to slap him, but Nahlah jumped in to lie for us. She smiled innocently: "No, we actually ran into each other at a flower shop. So we decided to talk, and, I guess, we got carried away."

She beamed at me. I grinned. She had a knack for lying so casually and cutely. I would have fallen for what she said.

"What were you doing at a flower shop, Cellie? Planning on being the man and getting me flowers?" Tony reached out, his finger twisting like a screwdriver into the corner of my glower, which I couldn't help but smile to because it was funny and ticklish. I smacked his finger away, though.

Next to me, I could feel Nahlah watching silently.

Tony grinned. He leaned toward her as if to exchange valuable information: "Jealous? Hey, hey, next time, _you're_ doing my back. I like what you do with Cel and everything, but, please, I don't want my massager's name being Seth or Greg—anything not male."

"What is _with_ you—let's go," I suddenly demanded. I pushed his chest, forcing him backwards, then wheeled him around by the shoulders.

Tony waved over her shoulders. "See ya! Massage. Me. Tomorrow, how about that?"

"I thought you liked _Celeste_?" teased Nahlah, who followed us as if this was all group hang.

My eyes bulged at her questioningly, frustrated. She only grinned back teasingly, which confused me. Moments ago it was all about _her_ and I, now it was _Tony_ and me?

Tony easily halted my efforts to push him away into a walk. He turned fully around to praise Nahlah. "Aha, hey, I like you. You got humor, unlike someone."

"The _boss_?" I reminded him, completely annoyed—and frankly, Nahlah wasn't making this any better.

"How about we three get together? You guys look like you're friends anyway, right?" he suggested. All about spirits and girls, that guy. "How about tomorrow morning, lunch? And . . . maybe a threesome at my place—?"

"_Good-bye_, Nahlah . . ." I said solidly through grinded teeth as I turned him around again.

Nahlah smiled, apparently entertained. She waved. I gave Tony a mighty push, which sent him trotting like a hesitating horse a few yards, before he skidded to a halt. It was enough time to let me turn around and say my own personal farewell to Nahlah.

"I'll see ya tomorrow, I guess," I said. "Without Tony."

"_With_ Tony!" exclaimed Tony rather victoriously behind me.

Nahlah and I grinned at each other, while I rolled my eyes. We both waved as I walked backwards, smiling timidly at her. Then, I turned and walked hastily past Tony, who waved one last time, then tried to catch up with me.

--

"You tarnish my reputation way too much," I exasperated as we turned a corner after crossing the street far from the park.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something important back there between you two?" replied Tony, rather slyly.

I elbowed him right in the diaphragm, hoping I aimed right. His grunt response satisfied me enough. "_Sorry_, Chickadee . . ."

"Choose a nickname, dammit." I walked quicker, either to get away from him faster or get Loraine's whim over with quicker.

"Sorry, I like all three. Cel, Cellie, Chickadee."

"Cellie's actually more bearable."

"Kay, kay. Cellie it is. Ooh, or how about 'Cellphone'—now I know why your name sounded familiar."

"What's going _on_, Tony?" I pressured through gritted teeth. He just ruined my patience. Always screwing my times with Nahlah.

"We got Kate."

I halted and turned to face him. He was standing with a satisfied, got-it-done expression, hands snuffed in his sport's jacket pockets.

"When?" I asked him to check his watch, which was 8:45 p.m.

"Approximiately at 8:34 p.m., we ambushed Merc's lair. The plan went perfect. Lost a few guys, but that's okay." Tony slowly walked on, while I followed, listening intently. "We have Kate, and gave her to Jacknife. He's supposed to fly out with her on a chopper late tonight."

"Wow."

"Um," he added before I could turn around with an expression of mission-accomplished smeared on my face; I was grateful it wasn't actually a chore for Loraine. ". . . But Merc . . ."

_Merc . . ._

I opened my whole being to Tony's news. The air suddenly felt chilly and naked, but fresh and alive. I let words and fresh air hit me.

I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, they told me in advance they would have to ambush Merc in order to get Kate.

". . . They shot Merc down in process?" I questioned in a low murmur.

". . . Sorry, Cel."

I turned to him. I felt like every nerve was stone and dead. ". . . It's fine," I told him with a tiny shrug. "I mean, hey, I chose this. I knew it at some point the old tramp would meet his time. And he wanted that, I know that."

_I had to lose him to find my way to Nahlah._

Tony looked at me, as if afraid or confused of how to approach me now.

"After all, it was why he lived on the Edge. He knew he'd die for it. He's okay with it," I told myself more than Tony.

"Cel?"

"Merc was great to me," I whispered. "I can't hide that. He and Drake and Faith. But I have you guys, now."

The Black Neck gaped at me in response to that last statement. Not long after that, he rubbed the nape of his neck as usual. Making some thoughtful "hm" noise, he exhaled, as if it was him who had to absorb all the shock.

"Wanna call it a night?" he said suddenly. "After all, I only pulled you away from your friend so she couldn't hear this."

"She's not meant to," I added, to which he nodded affirmatively. "C'mon. I'm tired."


	18. The Shard II

Chapter 18:

The Shard II

"So, hey, wanna stay at my place?" asked Tony just as we got into his car.

When I closed the door, I stared at him, nearly questioningly yet ominously. He was buckling his seatbelt; he looked up, and cleared his throat as he started the engine.

"That is, if you don't have a place," he finished to save face.

The car roared as we drove away. It was a thoughtful pause as I stared out the window. Finally, I said, "Um, what are the girls doing?"

"Pep's out on for dinner, I guess, with her fiancé," reported Tony, thoughtfully pressing two fingers against his temple as he drove one-handed. "And . . . are you sure about Reagan? She might have an anchor ready for you if you ever put a foot on her doorstep."

I chuckled, finding that strangely amusing. I shook my head, shrugging carelessly. "Let's see her try. I'll stay at hers."

Tony was utterly confounded at my words. His head jerked to look at me before returning his attention on the road. "You want to stay at the witch's for a night? I'm talking Hansel and Gretel, here. She'll accept you, you all lost and hungry and looking for a place to stay—then she'll eat you. She's a _cannibal_, Cel."

I chortled. "Yeah, yeah, Tony. She's not that heartless, I'm sure. After all, you shoulda heard her when we first talked face-to-face the night after you guys attacked me."

"Huh? Did I miss a threesome?" he jeered. I was going to rip out the gear stick, but held back.

"No. She thought I was a selfish, ignorant Runner always on the Edge."

"This whole Edge analogy's kinda getting annoying," blurted Tony, but he shrugged. "Yeahhhh, but that's Ray. Don't take her personally."

"Everyone takes _my_ quiet, 'cool deamanor' personally," I stated casually, grinning.

"You take pride in that?"

"Sure, why not? A Runner needs it sometimes, ya know?"

"I didn't think you were anything like that when I first saw you."

I turned to him with a ponderous expression. "Hm?"

I was sure he'd meant for that to be a whisper, so when he saw me looking at him Tony shrugged. "You're a chick. You were PMSing, I'm sure."

Ohmygod. What were the possible, countless, delicious ways to torture this guy? I grinned gleefully to myself.

"I'm a man, I understand my girls."

"_Tony_," I told him in the car. "Could you, for once, try not to sound all cool and everything? Talk normal, please. I'm probably PMSing right now."

"Then, you, my friend, are definitely a virgin. You're always PMSing. I guess that's a good sign," he joked.

I had about enough, so I was close to getting my claws around that gear stick, but Tony knew me well enough to warn me off. "C'mon, Celeste, the _road_—you'll kill us."

"At least I'll die happy knowing you died."

"Touched, Cellie."

"Get me to Reagan's. Even she's more bearable than you."

"You don't mean that."

"I just said it, though."

Tony pouted purposely, defining his ashy face at me. Then, as a joke, he leaned over to give me a fake kiss, but I fell for it and thought he was going to personally rape my face.

"Tony, seriously, I'll have Loraine fire you! The road!" I growled, pushing his face flat away from me with my palm.

He laughed. God, I hope he wasn't drunk, that was the last I needed. I didn't smell anything, though; I could have had him be pulled over for speeding or something. Heh, a Black Neck pulled over by a Blue, how perfect.

After a long grinning silence, in which Tony tried to cheer me up with more of his annoying dirty jokes, he cleared his throat, calm. "So, why Reagan, of all people?"

"Because right now she and you were the only people who didn't piss me off the last time I was over there," I quipped angrily.

"_I_ didn't piss you off. I practically carried you over to the sofa like a little girl," whined Tony. We were stopped at red light, so he turned to me with puppy-eyes.

"Yeah, but, I dunno, don't you think it's time I got on easy terms with that girl?" I suggested. "After all, I just dumped my former Runner friends for you guys—not that we're 'friends'. But comrades have got to get along for missions to work, right?"

"Awe, Project Icarus has taught you well," said Tony, whistling.

Green light. He hit the brakes, having fun. I condemned him. Teasingly, Tony attempted to reach over to give me a nuggy. I was tempted to stop his fingers and bite on them, but I just shoved him away.

"Fine, Reagan's."

"I'm sitting in the back next time."

Ten minutes later we parked in a residential parking lot. Getting out, I looked up. Reagan was living a more luxurious life than Nahlah was.

"Yup, she's on the fifty-fifth floor," sighed Tony, leaning on his open door as he looked up with me.

I looked over the car's roof to him. "What lifestyle do you live?"

"I dunno. I jump from chick's house to hooker's house . . ." He slipped a smug look. I rolled my eyes.

"Trying to make me jealous? Cuz it's not working," I told him flatly. I started walking onto the curb toward the entrance of the skyscraper. Tony followed me into the lobby. On our far right there was a loud banter from a restaurant.

"I hope it's working, cuz this chase is annoying," he said behind me.

I suddenly felt his somewhat slight goatee chin on my shoulder. Next, before I could stop him any further, his thick arms encircled my waist. As far as I was concerned, this was _too_ far.

I was about to give him a nice flip—but the moment I placed my hand on his to initiate the move, a voice called out.

"You didn't tell me you two were dating?"

We turned our heads toward the entrance to the bantering restaurant. Leaning against the doorframe was Reagan, with a gentleman holding her close.

I blinked, mouth guiltily open, though no words came out.

Tony grinned, waving, his other arm on my waist. "You bet! We're getting _married_, Ray! Wanna be the bride's maid?"

"Either I'm disappointed in you," said Reagan, looking me up and down as she sipped a glass of wine, "or he got you drunk."

"Neither," I told her. Then, with two fingers, I plucked Tony's rather heavy, thick fingers off my hip. "_He's_ drunk. I think."

Tony frowned, withdrawing his arm. "C'mon, Cel."

I glared at him. For once, he backed away and didn't say anything.

"I'm not wasted," he whined to Reagan, who just stared at me to make sure nothing was going wrong.

The man on Reagan was hugging her close, delivering petty kisses. I could easily tell he was just someone she picked up. After all, she was the wealthy girl working for the government whose life was picking up wealthy, hot guy after another. I found it rather annoying. Project Icarus may have been the rich style, but it was full of vanities. Now that I thought about it, I didn't know why _Reagan_ wasn't "Vanity".

"What are you doing here anyway?" asked Reagan. She quickly whispered to her man that she'd only be a bit. He left, grinning dreamily, and probably a bit drunk.

Reagan turned to us, again. She wore a simple black knee-high, fancy strapless dress, which was perfect for dinner parties. Silver earrings dazzled in the lighting of the lounge.

She sipped her wine again.

Breathing through his nose and out his mouth, Tony treated our purpose here like bad news: "Cel wants to stay at your place for the night."

I expected the woman to bitch, but she just sipped again and looked at me. She raised an eyebrow. "You're a Black Neck. Can't you get your own damn place? I'm not your fucking shepard."

I nearly burst out laughing, Radio Beam's events stamping in my memory, but held the laugh in, seeing I was facing a rather unpleasant being. However, my smirk seemed visible to Reagan, who looked at me.

"You _are_ drunk."

I shook my head out of it, giving her a stern, persuasive look. "NO. I wouldn't go anywhere near a drink with him around."

"Thanks guys, thanks." Tony exhaled, bruised by our words. He turned to Reagan. "Look, we knew you'd bitch. But look at this: either you take her in until we get her a place, or I take her to my house."

Reagan gulped down the last of her wine glass, swallowed, wiped her mouth gracefully, grabbed my wrist, and said, "Nope. She's with me."

Tony grinned, then turned to me, sighing. "Well, I guess it's you two chicks. Don't get carried away."

"Tony, I have glass in my hand," warned Reagan, looking at him.

"You can let go of my hand while you stab him with it," I suggested half-heartily, half in sarcasm, indicating Ray's hand gripping my wrist.

"Nope, I gotta go," said Tony. He turned and trotted out the exit, waving over his shoulders.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes but grin fondly. When I turned to Reagan, she was rolling her eyes, shaking her head as if wondering how they ever became comrades.

--

"Put this into consideration," said Reagan as she pulled out the pull-out couch in her suite. "You're filthy rich, now, Celeste. We're gonna get you an apartment or something as soon as possible because you just scared my man away."

"I woulda thought men like him would have loved two girls in one place," I began.

Reagan whipped around, staring at me like I had committed a crime.

"Never mind," I murmured, exhaling, hands in front of me defensively.

"Okay, _yeah_, you've been with Tony too long." Reagan threw some extra guest pillows onto the uncomfortable-looking mattress, then put hands on her hips in satisfaction. "There. Now, we should go to sleep cuz who knows when Project Icarus comes knocking at our door."

"Right . . ."

Reagan looked at me, arching an eyebrow. "What's wrong? You've never slept in a building before?"

I nearly glared, folding my arms. "Yes, I have. It's just, I don't have any night clothes."

Looking at me, Reagan sighed, but waved it off. "Right, right. Here, I think I got some extra tanktops or something . . ."

Her voice faded as she attacked and divided her clothes in the closet in her master room. I stood there, looking around, afraid everything was poisonous with her bitchy touch. The suite looked rather comfortable, like a hotel, only bigger and with better decorative accessories. There was a big window glaring hard against the dark city sky right there in the living room. I noticed Reagan's master room had a huge glass window, too.

Then, I noticed the familiar triangular skyscraper right above us. "You live right next to the Shard?"

"Of course," shouted Reagan from the master room. She walked out, throwing some tanktops and sweatpants at me. "It makes sense. In case Callaghan calls for us. It's basically his main 'fortress'. He's got PK units surrounding the Shard, whether in condos, apartments, or houses. Or a skyscraper, in my case."

"Where does Tony live?"

I tried to see whether her clothes fit me. Then, I glanced up. She'd been looking. I fired a sharp look at her.

"What?" I demanded.

"You like him?"

"I'm going to kill the next person who says that. No."

Reagan shrugged, tying her long hair up into a bun. "I dunno, it's just, of all people, you ask where he lives first. He lives in a house in proximities of the Shard. Pep and Loraine live in their own houses close by, too."

"Are you all friends or something?"

"We're comrades, if that substitutes correctly." Reagan changed in the bathroom into similar pajamas like the ones she gave me.

"How'd you meet? When?"

"What do you care?" She grabbed a wine bottle and gulped from it. "You hate us, right?"

"Not really. I'm just adjusting."

She gave me a reading look that was getting annoying. "Tony told me about your issues with Loraine and Pepper yesterday. Oh, and since you asked, Loraine and Pepper are actually really close."

"Yeah, I can see that. Did you all meet when entering Project Icarus?"

"Yeah—uh, actually, no. I knew Tony from college."

My eyes popped. "_You_ two went out?"

"_Hell_!" she burst, glaring. "Let me finish. He went to my college. Unfortunately. But we weren't close at all, we just remember being in some of each other's classes."

"College, hm . . ." My college days were fuzzy to me, I realized.

Looking at me in my reverie, Reagan snickered. "So Runners _were_ educated in college?"

"Stop looking at us like orphans, for once," I snapped back. "How else would we be able to infiltrate securities and such? We gotta know our math, our pieces of equipment, and such. We're Runners—we need to know everything in order to succeed."

"But not anymore," reminded Reagan. "You're a Black Neck."

"Ugh, don't you get sick of calling yourself that?" I groaned, tilting my head in aggrovation toward her. "Ever thought of retiring? I mean, how long have you served the PK?"

"Long time. Long enough. But hey, if I can get this life, I'll do it for my entire life." Reagan shrugged. "I really like the city lights at night. This is my favorite place in the whole world. Up here. What about you? You already hate Project Icarus after one day? Buff up."

I rolled my eyes. Maybe now so late at night wasn't a good time to chat. I sat on the pull-out couch, bobbing on its flexible matter, and pulled the sheets over my legs. Reagan quietly noted this as a goodnight sign, and went to brush her teeth.

When she got out, I found myself blurting, "Got anyone close? Anyone who doesn't know what you do for a private job?"

Reagan walked toward me, and stood in front of me. She made a clucking sound as she considered. Then, she made this quiet face that made me wonder.

"Yeah, he knew what I did for a living," she answered, nearly nonchalantly. "But he got himself too involved. Thought what I did was great, tried to help out. Joined the patrol cop forces. This made him a threat, so a Runner shot him."

The way she worded it, so quickly and just like that, made me look at her. I stuttered to find the right words as she turned to enter her bedroom.

"_What?_ Runners don't kill—" I began.

Reagan whirled to me, a firm grip on her hip. "Don't give me shit. You kill cops all the time, even when you really don't have to. Even when they don't bother you, like when you sneak up and kill them rather than going around them like you usually do, or could have done."

I couldn't help but stare into her eyes. Her face was red, eyes swollen with unspeakable anger I had never really noticed before.

Now I knew why she hated me—all Runners. Why she hopped from man to man.

"That Runner had no idea he had a fiancé," she finished coolly. Then, she turned around and entered her bedroom. She slammed the door somewhat, enough to make me flinch in preparation for it. I was left with no one but the quiet and cold dimples of light.

--

"SHIT!"

Just as I heard the explosion, Reagan burst into my room. I scrambled out of bed. We both stared at the Shard; my heart pumped rapidly. A blossom of fire had emitted from one vertex of the triangular rooftop. Debris with spits of fire collapsed shards of glass with it.

Seeing that we were closer to the top, Reagan and I rode the elevator up to the top. There, a chopper met us already, on the orders of Pepper or Loraine. We hopped in, closed the door, and put earphones on.

"GET US CLOSER!" commanded Reagan to the pilot. He gave the thumbs-up and tilted the chopper toward the Shard. Two more choppers were hovering near the top, too.

"Stupid news choppers, they're getting on my nerves," snarled Reagan. Then, she held her finger firmly against her earpiece comms. "What the hell happened?"

Tony's voice cracked through our lines of communication. "It was Connors! She and Lieutenant Miller were suddenly a team! He guided her up to the Shard, she found Kate and Jacknife as they were embarking a chopper—Jacknife's missing—the chopper flew into the Shard, we have no idea where the sisters are!"

"Ugh . . ." groaned Reagan, calmer than before. Then, she ordered, "Someone get those frikkin news choppers outta here. They're gonna throw Callaghan supporters into panic, and boost the hopes of our enemies."

"Who cares about how the public reacts," cut in Loraine.

"Boss," chorused Tony and Reagan loyally.

"Let them react. As their government, they should know the events going on up here. However," she added sternly, "we're gonna take down the Runners. Every last one of them. Not _one_ will lay their hand on the Shard again. Bolster security, more severe training, more frequent searches—Faith Connors and Kate Connors are our top priority."

--

It was on the news by five in the morning. Dawn was breaking, making every window, street, and person gleam in a different light. Today was the new world.

Deluges of PK units swarmed around the bottom of the Shard. The explosion injured quite a score of night-time civilians and nearby buildings. Ambulances were always driving off, cops were on the frantic search for the Connor sisters, and Black Necks were assembled at the feet of the giant.

Meanwhile, crowds had formed. Workers, families, friends, drunk parties of people of all ages had suffocated the CPF, yelling questions or awing up at the damaged Shard.

"What happened?"

"Take that, Callaghan! I hope he was sleeping up there when it happened!"

"Where's my sister—is she hurt?"

"Hey! Tell us what's going on? Was it terrorist attack?"

Loraine slammed the door of her car as she stormed toward Tony, Reagan, Pepper, and I. We were in our pajamas, which was embarrassing, yet funny.

"How the _hell_ did that Runner get all the way up there past _security_ without getting injured?" she shouted.

Tony, who was leaning against his car next to me, stepped up to the boss. "It's my fault. I was leading the sniper teams trying to fire her down when she was on the rooftops. I even had a huge army of the SWAT support backing us up, while some SWAT cops were inside the building. The Blues were down here, too, for precaution. But she's a Runner."

"I don't give a damn!" cursed Loraine, smacking the hood of Tony's car. "Everything was peaceful after yesterday's protests called it quits for the night. We actually had civilians go back home for a rest, so tired of their all-day protesting. But then _Connors_!"

She whipped around, clawing back her hair, which was down. She was a different person when pissed, her hair frizzled and tangled from her rage.

"What do we do, now?" asked Pepper over the roar of sirens and the hushing cries of the surrounding crowds.

Tony pulled out a cellphone, something Black Necks rarely used in front of other Black Necks. "I got a text. Looks like Bill's squad found Jacknife's body. It's _disgusting_; he fell all the way from the top of Shard."

"Ughhh . . ." murmured the girls.

"Damn, there goes our other source. But we have Cel. C'mon, let's get out of here," commanded the boss, going back toward her car. "We meet at our original PK headquarters. We can't have a discussion like this with all these people nagging us. Move out."

Reagan and I entered the back of Tony's car while Pepper's car followed Loraine immediately. A wolf pack of other assembled Black Necks' cars drove after us. Blues blocked roads for us, or drove in front of and behind us in their cars defensively.

"Where was Callaghan during all of this?" I asked Tony.

"He's fine. He wasn't in the building, thank god," exhaled Tony. "Scores of personal Blues are transferring him somewhere safer. We're placing him onto a boat toward an island a bit at sea. Runners can run, but they can't swim."

"Oh?" I said, folding my arms.

"You know what I mean, Cel. They're useless overseas. It's the best we can think of. We'll transport personal bodyguards with him as well as choppers and defensive scores of ships."

"Wow." I exhaled, piercing the irritated, yet anxious silence. "I guess things are serious, now."

"Yeah. So about your question earlier," noted Reagan privately to me. Tony looked into his mirror at us hoping to catch the underlying meaning. "Don't get anyone involved in your line of work. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

I blinked, staring at her. She was apologizing already, just like that?

She caught my look and shrugged, leaning against the window while staring outside. "I never trusted Runners, even before I met him, Cel. But my total rage against them peaked after they killed him while he was on patrol."

"So why are you easing down on me all of a sudden?" I asked.

She scolded, "Do you want to get along or what? Besides, with you being our key to the weaknesses of the Runners, I _have_ to follow you. Getting to know you could zoom us in on the psyche and ways of the Runner."

"About time you two made up," said Tony, stifling a yawn. "Today and the next upcoming days are gonna be rough. We'll need all the hugs from each other we can get. It's all about the Runners, now. We're gonna dump them off the Edge."

"I thought you hated the Mirror's Edge analogies," I mocked.

"I had an urge to say that one, though. But I'm done."

On our earpieces, Loraine cracked in: "We have Blues out on patrol for any Runners. Now that the Connors sisters inflicted critical damage to the Shard, we gotta make sure no more Runners see where our headquarters are. Be careful. Oh, and one more thing. Celeste, I have a mission for you."

Reagan looked at me. "I'll join you on this mission," she offered casually and flatly.

I wasn't sure if I were to smirk at her in appreciation or say nothing, so I continued to listen to Loraine.

"Yeah, what's that?" I asked Loraine.

"We arrested Lieutenant Miller. I want you to go to the eastern prison and talk to him regarding the location of the sisters."

Reagan pointed out ruefully, "Yeah, that'll work. He let the Runner escape, he's not gonna turn back now. He's devoted to both sisters. I'm sure he'd prefer us to interrogate him to the point of torture. He won't loosen up."

Loraine said, "Shut up, Ray. This is Celeste's concern, not yours."

Reagan and I exchanged heavy, cold glances of confusion.

"Why me? What connections could I have with this guy?" I asked Loraine.

"You were close to Faith, tell him that," suggested Loraine thoughtfully. "Lie to him, say that you're working both sides just to clear the Connors sisters."

"You think he'll fall for that?" broke in Reagan. "You're forgetting Faith got away after finding out Celeste betrayed the Runners. Merc overheard their farewell conversation. All Runners and Trackers know about Celeste. They'll look out for her. And since Faith's been talking to Miller in the shadows, he probably is aware of Celeste, too."

"Hm, now that you pointed that out," said Loraine, "I think we have a bigger concern, here."

"What would that be?"

"Celeste's safety. Runners could be after her, now."

"What? Now she's president?" taunted Reagan, snorting.

"She's our key to the objective of Project Icarus. We can't loser her. And I'm sure the Runners are raving for her head."

"I'll be her personal bodyguard," volunteered Tony with a raised hand. He was serious, though.

"Road, Tony," barked Reagan.

"For now, the best thing we can do for Cel is to keep her flowing with the rest of the Black Necks," commanded Loraine. "Which means, keep her on missions, especially with comrades surrounding her, and she'll be fine. Runners after her will have a hard time cornering her. I mean, c'mon, this is some street rats agains the whole CPF. This means, Cel, that you can't have as much leisure time as you used to. You clarified that you don't know how many Runners could exist and who could be one. So be extra fucking careful."

"I don't care what happens to me," I told her stringently, "just as long as Marissa's safe."

"We know," affirmed Loraine in an understanding tone. "Don't worry. If anything involves her, we'll have her out. I promise, Cel."

Reagan, the whole time next to me, watched me silently as we drove to headquarters.


	19. Innocence

Chapter 19:

Innocence

"So, what are we going to do now about Celeste's new home and everything?" asked Tony.

The PK units were congregated back at the training grounds. We had just finished some training. A Black Neck returned with coffee, bagels, and cream cheese.

"No donuts?" grumbled Pepper as she reluctantly took a slice of bagel. Everyone shoved past her for the late breakfast meal.

"I thought since you owned a car you would have a house," said Reagan, looking at me as I sat down on a platform, which was part of the training grounds.

I drank coffee heavily. "I _did_ have a house. You guys seriously thought we Runners were street rats, didn't you? It was basically vacant the whole time since I was Running most of the time. I stayed at Merc's or Drake's on occasions, but only used my house for rest, showers, and meals."

"We need to move you closer to the Shard," confirmed Pepper, "because as you already knew, returning to your house would have endangered you since the Runners now probably know about you. Moving closer to the Shard is safer for you. The rest of us are nearby, anyway. And in emergencies regarding the Shard, you'll arrive quicker."

"All of that is gonna be such a drag," I complained.

"You're not staying at my place at all, starting now," barked Reagan. "Grow up, Runner."

"Look, Project Icarus will take care of the real estate and everything for you," said Loraine, smiling gently over her sip of coffee. "I just want you to focus on looking out for yourself. Today's heavy with so many things to get done."

"Like what? More criminal chases and such?" I snapped.

"I don't care if you break your arm and a leg or even your ass," said Loraine, glaring me down. "Just because you're essential to Project Icarus' success doesn't mean you can slack. You'll work like everyone else."

"Hey, you've recruited so many Black Necks," I argued. "I'm sure by now your increasing employments have taken over the city. You got cameras, Blues, and PK units everywhere. You don't need me every fucking hour."

"Do you want to live, Cel?"

"Stop using that against me!" I shot up from my seat on the platform, abandoning my coffee. Trying to stay calm, I folded my arms. "It's not even philosophy anymore, it's just a question you're using to shackle me. I'm in heavier chains than I've ever been."

"You wanna be a Runner, then?" challenged Loraine, calmly sipping her coffee.

"_Well_, I guess _now_ I do since you've taken my freedom from me. That's why we loved the Edge!"

Pepper joined my confrontation. "Loraine. Give her a break."

"Celeste gave up on a chase yesterday and I let her walk away for the rest of the evening," Loraine told her coolly. "But then the _Shard_ was _just_ attacked, Pepper. I sent many PK units out already; Callaghan's in a fit. Don't let her complaints rear you in."

"Technically, you're not really my boss," I muttered at Loraine.

"_No_, Cellll," began Tony, watching me the whole time, cringing.

Loraine looked at me, putting a fist on her hip. "What, you think Callaghan's gonna leave his office, come down here, and grant you permission to laze out the day? No, he's got bigger things to concern himself with."

I glared at every detail of Loraine's face. "Ya know, I respected you in the beginning. Now you're just breathing down my neck."

"I'm your boss, I'm giving you the money."

"Sorry, Raine," said Tony, "but you really are being a bitch."

Our surrounding Black Neck comrades, the less significant ones, were silent the whole time, watching. Some were utterly badgered by my "complaints", shaking their head or whispering with each other.

Loraine flashed a look at Tony. "I don't care if you like her, Tony. You're not gonna back her up on this. But if you really want a break, I'll give it."

We all gaped at her.

The boss exhaled. "Take a day off, today. The Shard's damage is not really your concern anyway—I just freaked out, that's all. The Shard's the Blues' concern. Ours are the Runners. You're right, I have plenty of other Black Necks to take those rats out. But today will be your last twenty-four hours of freedom. The following to come are gonna be rough—time-consuming. So, scram, go tell all your friends and families how much you love them and how work is cramming your time and apologize."

Loraine quietly turned around, about to exit with her breakfast.

I called after her, "What do you tell _your_ family?"

"What do you mean what do I tell them?"

"Do you tell them Mommy's busy? You have kids, right?"

"Yes. They're bright kids, they can handle themselves with their father there."

I bobbed my eyebrows as harmlessly as I could. "Oh, they must have an exciting life."

"You're not the nanny nor my therapist. Go and enjoy your day, Vanity."

"Actually, I was thinking . . ." My voice trailed off. Strangely, a smile tugged at my lips as I eyed my boss. "I was thinking about meeting your family."

Loraine looked at me, while my other three comrades fired looks at me.

"You're really strange, you know that?" commented Reagan, froze in mid-action of spreading her cream cheese, eye-balling me.

Then, Loraine smiled faintly. "Sorry, you get your private life, I get my own."

Pepper spoke up with a joking grin. "She's embarrassed about her family."

"Or protective," I corrected, staring at her with my own grin.

"We're even, we're even," said Loraine, shaking her head hopelessly. "If you really want, my husband Calvin is busy today. Bring the kids to the park or something."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHAT?" interrupted Tony, splitting the air between the boss and I with a crescent-shaped bagel. "So, you, Ms. Bitch, decided that her mission for today is baby-sitting your kids while we're running our asses in the sun on boiling rooftops?"

"It _is_ a nice day," said Loraine, slightly ignoring him with a grin, "maybe you, Ray, and Pep should go running."

"You're funny, Boss Moss," growled Tony, waving what was left of his bagel angrily. "But we were gonna go to the park today since you offered a day-off—!"

_"We?"_ I growled.

Reagan pointed and reached for Tony's crust. "You gonna eat that?"

Tony withdrew his bagel. "Get your own crust."

Reagan rolled her eyes and went to get more bagels from the breakfast tray. Pepper joined her. When they came back, they raised their hands:

"Can we have a day off, too?" asked Pepper goofily, which was uncommon of her. "Besides, I adore your kids, Raine."

Loraine popped her eyes at her friend. "The _Shard_, Pepper. Besides, you've seen them before. Let Cel see them."

"And Tony," added the pervert, ripping his bagel apart.

"The guy can't stand a yard away from his Cellie," swooned Reagan with a joyful smirk; I glared. "Let the two babysit your kids, boss."

"This should be interesting," said Loraine.

I really wished I hadn't suggested seeing her family. Now that I thought about it, I really saw no point in seeing her family anymore or to even begin with.

However, I was really suddenly relieved and somewhat grateful to Loraine for offering this. This was my one and only chance to tell Nahlah that work was really going to occupy me. I guess we were gonna have to save our times together for dinners or something.

"Ya know what?" said Tony after cooling down. "I like that Nahlah girl, let's get together with her. She looks like a motherly type, she can help us in case the two get out of hand."

"What, you can't handle two kids?" said Pepper, glaring.

"No, no, I just need her there to watch them while I make out with Post."

I got up and left.

"Heyyyyy, where you going!" called Tony.

_This day got really weird._

Loraine called after me, "One day, Cel. One day. I live on 8th Stanton Street ten minutes from here, north, near Popular Point. You can run there, if you want, but if you're taking my kids out you should take Tony's car."

"Why Tony? Why not Reagan or Pep?" I shouted, turning around.

"I need these girls."

Pepper's coffee nearly spilled. "What do you need to be done?"

"Ain't Cel special?" grumbled Reagan.

What was Loraine doing? First taking my day-off up with her kids, with Tony behind me, and then plotting Reagan and Pepper against me through jealousy?

"Can't Pepper drive me there or something? She knows your family, it appears, better than any of us," I said.

"I vouch for that, Raine," said Reagan. "Plus, the more you put Celeste with Tony, the more she talks like him."

"WHOA, what?" Tony shot his eyes at me.

I ignored him. "Don't get any ideas. You've contaminated me."

Reagan added sarcastically to Loraine, "Not to mention placing a man like him near your pure family is clearly out of the question."

Loraine eyed Reagan, me, then Tony—who was gawking at Reagan, as if offended—then held her chin thoughtfully. "I guess. Why not? Pepper, drive Cel to my house."

"Only if I can hang out there for a bit," returned Pepper.

"Fine. Briefly, though."

"Can we have lunch together?"

"Sure. Then come back to work. No later than 2:00 or something."

The auburn-haired girl smiled with a brief wave of her hand. "Cool. Let's go, Celeste."

"Oh," announced Loraine just as Pep and I turned; she walked to me, arms folded like a sneering sergeant. "You wanna get to know me, go ahead. Go see my family. My children are a charm. But don't get any ideas."

Those last bitter words hissed through her gritted teeth as she coolly challenged my eyes. We were nearly nose-to-nose, but then she pulled back calmly, looking at me.

_"What?"_ I folded my arms, just to be even. "You think I'd seriously threaten your family? C'mon, Raine. We're humans. This isn't war. It's just protests and mayor campaigns, which is over now—now that this is 'Shard City'. What _reason_ do I have to 'get any ideas'? As long as I'm with Project Icarus, you nor I have nothing to worry about."

Loraine turned around. "That's just what I needed to hear. It's good to know you are motivated to stay within Project Icarus."

--

At the wheel, Pepper sighed. "It's been a while, Cel. You and I hadn't really been able to bond like it seems you've had with Tony."

"Please. Who's fault is that," I said sarcastically, pinning Loraine mentally.

Pepper looked at me before massaging her temple with a finger. "Don't get on the boss' bad side, Cel. She's been merciful since you've met, but now that things have gotten serious—especially with the Shard damaged by the Connors sisters—she has to be like that. For your sake and the city's."

"She doesn't care about a hair on my body."

"Why did you want to meet her family by the way?" asked Pepper, completely bouncing off topic.

"To see who she was. You know how it goes."

"No, I don't," said Pepper firmly, face calm but focused. "You've taken this all down to personal measures. It used to be about your job, if you were to ever find a better rooftop to sleep under—now it seems more than that. That Marissa girl, right?"

"Well, of course. Each of us has someone, right?" I didn't want to make it sound as though I'd die for her—anything to keep Project Icarus from motivating or using me.

"Well, not Reagan. I'm sure you've heard of her story by now, hm?"

"Yeah. She told me herself."

"Really?" Pepper's eyes brightened at me, then returned her attention to the road. "Wow. Already . . .? _Reagan_? She told you herself?"

"Yeah. She had it rough."

"Everyone does. No one's innocent."

I had enough personal talk, now. Now that we were heading for Loraine's, I might as well prepare myself for innocence. I don't think I had ever been near young children for so long. In a way, I guess I asked to see the Moss children just to see if innocence still existed.

"What are the Moss kids like?" I asked randomly, purely curious.

Pepper smiled. "Bright kids, like Raine said. They are very fond of asking questions depending on what's going on around them. You can make them smile easily, but I guess it depends on with what."

"Do they . . . have any idea what's going on in this city? What their mother does?"

Pepper looked at me again before quickly returning her attention driving. Seconds later, she said, "I . . . can't say for sure. One would wonder if they're innocent just because they are naïve kids being kids, or because they may not end up like any of us."

I gave her an agog burn of my eyes. "What does that mean?"

Pepper shrugged as if a smiling scientist marveling over nature's wonders. "Well, by the time they are older, do you think all of this will be over and they'd be saved from having to become like us?"

I stared at her before gaping out the window for the longest time in thought. For once, I actually absorbed her words.

Loraine's house was your average house: welcoming, average, but not as tasteful and expressively out-there like Nahlah's. When Loraine and I entered the front door, Calvin Moss greeted us. He thanked us for dropping by, apparently having been contacted by Loraine herself. Loraine introduced us, then, he hurried off to work after kissing the foreheads of his children.

The small 7-year-old copper-haired daughter wrapped frail hands around Pepper's fingers.

"Hey, Renee," said Pepper soothingly, beaming down. "Ready to go to the park?"

"Yeah," replied the girl, smiling widely and angelically; I stared at her soft, rosy cheeks and tiny, cheeky lips.

I scooped her 2-year-old brother Will into my arms as Pepper led us back to her car. Pepper smiled at me with an observant glow in her eyes, commenting, "Didn't think you'd be good with kids."

"He's a quiet one," I said stiffly, looking down at the blue-eyed blonde. "And you said they were easy to please depending on 'with what'."

"Willyyyyy's sleepyyy?" piped Renee openly, stroking his stubby, cherubic feet.

Pepper smiled lightly at Renee as we approached her car. Next to her car, however, was Tony leaning against one of his own.

"What are you doing here?" I said, glowering.

"Loraine forgot she had the car with the safety booster seats," replied Tony defensively as if I was about to punch him. "So she let me take it down to you guys while she borrows mine for the day."

"Ok, thanks, now get lost," I said as we buckled the children.

"Stop being so harsh, Cel," complained Tony, frowning. "I'm here to help with babysitting."

"You got two pros here. I think we're fine," I told him, getting into the passenger's seat of Loraine's car. "These two kids are a piece of a cake. Very sweet, quiet kids. Don't influence them with your existence."

"Ya never know when they'll pounce," said Tony with a casual shrug as he leaned against my closed window. "Kids are like snakes: silent, watchful, then—!"

Pepper got my message as she drove away. "Wow, if he's gonna complain about kids like that, then you two definitely shouldn't—"

I glared at her, to which she prepared to silence herself. "Where are people getting these ideas . . ." I paused, staring. ". . . It's Reagan, isn't it?"

Her face gave her away. "You Runners jump to conclusions quick."

"No, quite the contrary," I said calmly but forcefully, "they look and think. And what I saw was Reagan."

"That made no sense," mocked Pepper, nearly ripping into laughter. She maintained her modesty but clearing her throat. "But. Your life."

I gawked at her before glaring out the window, squinting so hard in concentration it gave me a headache. Staring out the window made me realize, just as we arrived at the park, that Tony had followed us.

I slammed the door closed while Pepper frantically focused on Will, who started crying in his baby seat; she removed him and his sister, holding their hands and walking them toward a small swing set along the park path.

"What are you doing? Doesn't Loraine have orders for you?" I condemned.

"Hey, I lost my wallet—chill!" snapped Tony as I approached him scornfully. He slid past me defensively toward the driver's seat, opening the door and reaching in. "It fell outta my pocket. Geez, Cel!"

Pepper called from the swing set, "Someone stop Renee!"

I rushed to her gratefully, swooping Renee up, who ran off trying to pet a dog sitting at the feet of its owner, a man preoccupied with a newspaper. Apologizing to the gentleman, I stepped back, then, caught the headline of his newspaper:

**THE HUNTING SPREE: RUNNERS—**

"—And are you bitching because you're afraid Reagan's gonna bitch at all us for being here rather than with her at work?" Tony was still talking to me fiercely from where I left him as I walked past him toward the swing set.

"Keep your tone down, Tony," I hissed, seeing Renee's cautious look at the man. I pushed her gently toward Pepper. "Go to Pepper, Renee. She has ice-cream."

I honestly didn't know if she would fall for that, but she shyly bobbed her head in excitement. With a gleeful smile, she frolicked clumsily toward Pepper, who welcomed her with wide arms. She began the process of securing Renee in the swing who asked where the ice-cream was.

"Well, you keep snapping at me like I'm gonna bite ya," he protested, slightly more calm. His eyes were still glued to me eagerly, as if trying to clear his name.

"Well, maybe I wouldn't if you stopped bugging me—" I began when a small, light voice broke our tension.

"Hey, guys."

Tony and I turned our heads, greeted by Nahlah's bright smile. Instantly, my eyes stung as I bulged them at her, speechless. On the other hand, Tony beamed instantly. He rose a welcoming "hi" gesture.

"Nahlah!" he said cheerfully. "Heyyy, perfect timing! It's early noon. We could all use a break—wanna join us?"

What the shit? I couldn't believe she was here, in front of not just Tony, but also another comrade of mine—most of all, in broad daylight? What was worse was that Pepper would recognize her . . .!

"Ok, I was just dropping by to say hi, but sure," accepted Nahlah, bobbing her head. Her eyes lit upon me as she smiled innocently but happily.

I budged more of a terrified smile, along with a quick wave before I turned to join Pepper. I didn't want Pepper getting any feel that Nahlah and I were close.

"Hey, why does she look familiar?" Pepper was multi-tasking, pushing both kids at different timings. Her eyes were heavy and unmoved on Nahlah, who was being picked on by Tony jubilantly.

"Yeah, I guess. Tony adores her since she's been giving us massages lately," I told her monotonously, following her gaze.

"Ohhhh, she's from _Spa&Soul_?" gasped Pepper, trying to focus on keeping the Moss children happy. "Right, right. Yeah, I remember her . . ."

_Great_.

We watched silently as Tony gave Nahlah a playful knuckle in her shoulder. I took this as a chance to observe the brunette, whose hands were sheepishly folded behind her back as usual, one of them holding a book. She wore a rather skimpy jean skirt and flip-flops, which was unusual of her taste, but then again it was a warm day; the sun highlighted her rather attractive orange tank top with small leather laces crisscrossing at the chest. It brought out her coffee-colored skin.

"What is Tony doing anyway? And I thought he had a thing for you," jested Pepper.

Finally snapping out of it, trying to preoccupy myself, I pushed Will for Pepper while she focused on satisfying the childish nature of Renee. The two kids giggled gleefully with each other without a worry in the world, to which I envied as I found myself staring at Tony and Nahlah.

"You _are_ jealous!"

I snapped at Pepper, "NO. Get it right, Pep."

The woman gave a smug shrug. "Sorry, my mistake. But it looks like he's excited to invite the girl to lunch. You and Tony weren't really planning lunch, were you?"

"NO," I stated again, loud, emphasized, and with agitation.

Pepper didn't say anything. She continued to push Will, who was begging for her attention as he gave a merry, shaky laugh like bells. "Hm . . . wanna have lunch together, anyway?"

"Who? All of us?" I asked, prodding to see if that included Nahlah.

I stared back at Nahlah nervously, who quickly flickered her eyes over to us before smiling speechlessly to Tony's banters. What was he bantering about, anyway? Was she seriously smiling to whatever you wanted to call "jokes" or just going along with it so he'd shut up?

The thought racked my head as I stared.

_"Cel,"_ repeated Pepper, this time in a louder, but gentle bark. "Hey?"

I looked at her reflexively. "What?"

"You asked me if we were all eating lunch? And I said yeah. I was asking about what we'd do about Loraine's kids, but you . . ." Pepper stared at me. I had a hard time figuring out whether she was trying to hide a grin or figure out if I was hiding anything.

Before she pressed further questions, Tony and Nahlah walked toward us with evenly friendly and excited smiles.

"Heyyy, Pep, remember Nahlah? She gave us massages when Cel was still a virgin," joked Tony, gesturing Nahlah and Pepper to each other.

The other Black Neck smiled politely. "Yeah, I remember, hi." She beamed as she heartily shook hands with Nahlah, while I punched Tony successfully in the forearm.

"Hi," returned Nahlah.

_Shit, shit, shit. Now Pepper has met Nahlah. Tony, I hate you. I hate you with all my heart._

Nahlah swept me a quick smile, saying "hi" again, before switching her attention to the Moss children. She leaned down, cooing: "Awee, who are these angels?"

Already seeing the soft sight of Nahlah poking the noses of the two giggling children sent me staring with admiration.

"Boss' kids," presented Tony with a grin.

"You sound so proud as though they're your kids," huffed Pepper.

"Just preparing myself for fatherhood. Cel's my wife!"

Nahlah looked at me from Tony, then back to the Moss children. She was tangling her finger with their small ones, tickling them, or making peek-a-boo faces. It was rather cute, but strangely hysterical of her.

"You close with Tony or something?" Pepper asked Nahlah politely, yet curiously as she watched Nahlah work her kid magic.

"Nah," I answered, rolling my eyes, "Tony likes her just because of what 'she does to me' whenever I get massages."

"Don't forget that I think she and Cel would make a hot couple," added Tony with an exclaimed finger.

Pepper goggled at him, then gave me a look, while Nahlah blushed, trying to focus on the kids; I scowled both Black Necks.

"Not in front of the kids, Tony," I quipped sarcastically, folding my arms.

"Whup, right, careful, Celeste's a virgin." Surprisingly, whose hands but Nahlah's covered my ears jokingly. It came out of nowhere. When her hands receded, Pepper and Tony chuckled along. I stared at her briefly, but tried not to give myself away.

What was she doing? Giving a fake profile?

"Yeah, lunch shouldn't be a problem," said Pepper, as if with approval. She smiled at Nahlah. "Come along, if you'd like."

"Are you sure you're not busy?" I prodded Nahlah.

Nahlah beamed, hugging her book to her chest. "Nah. I have today off, so I decided to read in the park. It's so nice out."

_Of course. The one day she's free, I'm baby-sitting._

"Lucky we ran into you," said Tony. "It won't be in a while till we see you again."

Was he seriously already friends with her, or was he hitting on her?

I stared at him, frustrated, at the same time Nahlah looked at me. "Hm?" she asked Tony. "You're busy?"

"Yeahhh." Tony helped Pepper slip the kids out. He held Will, who rested his chin on Tony's broad shoulder. "Ya know the story. The city's a busy, peace-thriving place."

Nahlah observed him, smiling innocently and shaking her head.

"Ready?" urged Pepper with a wide beam.

It was amazing what a sunny day did to people. We were already, as a group, walking deeper into downtown. For once, the city seemed rather beautiful with my comrades and Nahlah surrounding me. I took a quick glance at the dignified, collected Pepper carrying Will with one arm and holding Renee's hand with her other; Tony mumbling and cursing or staring with excitement at certain eating selections; Nahlah was exchanging brief smiles or glances with me every now and then.

I could understand a normal civilian's view on the Runners: we were on top of the world, selfish, isolated, nearly nonexistent. Down here, as I learned to be more and more like an "everyday person", I saw how being inside the city was just as great as looking down upon it.

Because for me, I could just focus on the smaller things, rather than the big picture, and that was Nahlah walking next to me. She was all I could see every time I looked into reflections of windows or mirrors.

_This_ was innocence, the Mirror's Edge.


	20. The Confession

Chapter 20:

The Confession

We ran across crosswalks and randomly cruised by restaurants or cafes. Tony was rather selective, Nahlah didn't care, Pepper snapped about how we couldn't forget the kids' appetite, and I went with whatever Nahlah wanted.

"Ok," said Pepper, looking at Tony. "After lunch, you should head back to work. Boss' gonna get annoyed."

"Hey, men can be great babysitters, too," snapped Tony.

"Stop taking offense, Canon," said Pepper, rolling her eyes. "Let's focus on the kids. Besides, Loraine trusts Cel and I—me to say the least—with her kids."

"But I'm being the bonus help. And you're forgetting the boss wanted you to get back, too."

Pepper ignored him as she read: "This looks good. _Hoegie's_ . . ." She turned to us. "You guys okay with here? The menu looks decent, and the kids will definitely have something to eat."

"I'm starving—let's go!" Tony barged the door open and we followed calmly.

I was rather embarrassed that he was hanging with us. Nahlah watched my inner frustration and smiled, giggling. I looked at her briefly when Pepper was focusing on listening to what Renee wanted.

"She's gonna spoil them," I thought aloud.

Nahlah put a hand on my shoulder, which helped her tilt upward so she could whisper into my ear. "You don't have to be so secretive about me."

I gawked at her before I hissed, "Do you have any idea the jeopardy in letting _Tony_ interfere with _our_ free times together? And adding Pepper, it just, I dunno . . ."

"Are you being territorial of me?" sneered Nahlah, looking me in the eye.

"No, _think_ about it. Tony. Think _Tony_," I stressed, looking alarmingly at Pepper just in case she turned around.

Nahlah and I looked at Tony, who was waiting at the PLEASE WAIT sign, glaring at waiters who walked by ignorantly or in hurries. He was switching into the cursing, bad-tempered guy I first met when the Black Necks tasered me.

"I dunno," murmured Nahlah, eyes occupied with her book. "It just . . . bothers me."

I looked at her. "Hm?"

There was this recoiled, dim light in her eyes as if she regretted saying that. She confessed, ". . . When you act as though we're not close. It's been more than a week, now. I thought we were friends."

"We are," I assured her right away, "Just. I hate it when people kick into my private life. Don't you have other friends?"

Instantly, Nahlah's face fell as she looked at me. My own face fell, too, after realizing the misunderstanding behind my words. I opened my mouth to say something, but Nahlah looked away, hugging that book like life.

I took a glimpse at her, hesitant, then at her book: _The 47__th__ Samurai_ by Stephen Hunter.

How random.

I looked at her, trying to connect this drop-dead gorgeous, sweet brunette with the adventurous-sounding book she was reading.

I about to ask her what it was about. Instead, Pepper turned to us, requesting, "Heyyyy, someone hold Will, he's crying."

"I have him." Nahlah took Will from Pepper, who gave her this unsettling look. I watched Nahlah, quite proud of her gentleness as well as awed by it. Nahlah spent the next minute tickling Will.

Just as Pepper's eyes fell on me wondering why I've been so quiet—which I always am—Tony gestured us to follow our waitress.

Pepper ordered food for the kids, then, after we all ordered, we waited.

I was glad Loraine's kids were here to occupy Pepper from analyzing me—because apparently, according to her, I've been acting strange. Watching Pepper, I realized she had such a fondness for the Moss kids, not to mention being protective. She was like the godmother: she kept Will from biting on the salt and pepper, or joined Renee who insisted that they color in the kid's menu with crayons.

Tony sat across from me while Nahlah sat next to me. For the next ten minutes, we all conversed talk. Once in a while Nalah would join Pepper as they cooed at the cute children. The whole time, Tony was focused on me, talking to me or slipping his dirty or stupid jokes.

"You know what I love about children," announced Nahlah as Renee insisted that she join. "They're so innocent."

"Duh," said Tony. I glared at him; he shrugged defensively. "WHAT? Ever heard of sarcasm?"

Nahlah chuckled, smiling to Pepper, who rolled her eyes with a hidden smirk in her eyes.

"Yeah," continued Nahlah, caressing Will's head, whom was obliviously staring around the restaurant. "Now I know why I love children. You look at them, and you just want to love them. Be there for them, make them laugh, comfort them when they get hurt. It's that funny attachment to them, the beautiful emotions they inflame. Their laughter is your happiness; their little kiddish songs are your songs; they're your life, your future, and the world's future. You see a little boy kicking a soccer ball on a beach, and you wonder what he'll be like older; you wonder if they'll make the world a better place—if they'll be good or bad. Which is why we love them. We cherish them, in their moment, as they are, because we enjoy sitting there, wondering about their future . . . wondering about them."

The table was silent, besides Renee talking to herself as she colored in her menu and Will making wordless "goo" sounds. Most of all, I was staring at Nahlah in total silence, a burn pulling at my heartstrings.

Pepper sat back, folding her arms, eyes beaming at Nahlah. "Wow. That was deep."

Tony grinned—oh god, what was he going to say now? "If you love children so bad . . ."

This time, it was Nahlah who joined me as we both threw our thick napkins. He blocked with his arms, laughing out loud to himself. Pepper found Nahlah and my reactions rather amusing, but turned her head to feed Will the appetizer bread he was begging for.

"You're forgetting I'm the one who lets you enter _Spa&Soul_," threatened Nahlah, blushing angrily but jokingly.

"You don't even do _my_ massages!" whined Tony. "And I'm the one who pays you!"

"Then stop paying for the massages, seeing that you go only to be with Celeste—even more, paying _for_ her!" retaliated Nahlah softly.

"We're in _public_," I hissed. Nahlah's last words there really were too much for one to consider. She was making me nervous.

"Oh, do you want to talk this _privately_?" insisted Tony, staring at me.

While I glared at Tony, Nahlah excused her previous outburst by turning to Pepper. "You're always taking care of them. Here, lemme feed the guy."

Pepper smiled at her offer. "No way, not now since your of little speech a minute ago. I'm gonna adore every little second with these guys until I someday have kids of my own."

"Aweee," teased Tony. "I can make that happen quicker."

Pepper declared "_Tony_" at the same time I lurched for his napkin to throw at him, but he grabbed my wrist in perfect reflex.

Everyone, including me, stared.

I stared at Tony, who stared for once without grinning goofily. Five seconds later, he released me. I withdrew my wrist, staring at him before looking away. Nahlah, next to me, stared.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, observing my reaction.

I turned to her. "Yeah."

"Sorry," murmured Tony, apparently dazed by the contact. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Pepper turned to me. "You really _are_ a virgin." She flashed a small smirk, while I stared at her, then dragged my attention out the window, uncomfortable.

Our food arrived, to which I sighed mentally with relief. We ate in peace, exchanging talk now and then. I wasn't used to eating in public, specifically since I always shared pizza with Merc or Faith rarely—but it was probably because of what just happened, and the fact that Nahlah was staring at me.

What is she staring at now? Do I eat horribly? Or was she affected by what just happened?—_Nothing happened_, I told myself angrily_. There's no reason for anyone to be upset. It was just me being mad at Tony and throwing stuff at him. He got defensive, literally, that's all. He's a Black Neck, of course he'd hold my wrist defensively._

Finally, Tony, who chewed rather politely for the dirt-mouth he was, said, "Hey, Cellie, there's this nice restaurant near New Eden Mall. It's called _Ocho's_, ever heard of it?"

"No. You know me, Tony."

My words must have been cold and spurning. Tony was silent for a second, chewing his food as well as his thoughts before he said any more. Nahlah was looking at him, then at me, trying to pretend as though Renee was too cute to ignore.

". . . Well, ya, um, so it's a Thai restaurant. Like Thai?"

"Yeah . . .?" I looked up at him, pausing. Nahlah joined me, while Pepper turned, sensing a strange tension.

"Do you wanna go there tonight? Er, if the boss isn't being a bitch?"

I looked at him stonely. He shielded his hands in front of himself, exhaling nervously. "Ahhh, don't gimme that. You are soooo bitchy-looking when you glare, it's ugly, ya know?"

"_Am_ I glaring?"

"Like you're never," he began.

I stared again, not sure how to defend myself. Once again he mistook it as a glare, so he suddenly tightened his jaw shut.

"I think Ms. Celeste's pretty, even when she glares."

Tony and I looked at Nahlah. She was chewing her food, but she shrugged shortly and smiled at me with her mouth closed, cheek slightly puffed like a chipmunk. It was cute.

Goddammit. It was those kind of things that would give Nahlah and I away.

Tony didn't seem to notice nor care. He was too focused on my response, staring at me, then at his food, which he just poked with his fork.

"So . . .?" he started again.

Shit. He was asking me out.

"Tony . . ." I began, sitting back, straightening myself up in my seat, while pressing my fingers against each other thoughtfully. ". . . I don't do relationships. You know my line of work."

"Yeah, and I'm in it," he snapped.

Was he upset already?

I couldn't help but stare at him, feeling bad. He was so clueless, vulnerable, pitiful, and all out there; unable to control his emotions. I knew he liked me ever since Reagan brought it up—damn her for bringing it up to _everyone_—but was he that much of a pimp to not actually know how to confront girls he actually liked?

Was I seriously a virgin, not knowing how to respond?

No wait, I _did_ respond. I turned him down. Good.

Tony pressed, "C'mon, Cel? It's a great place. If you like Thai, I know you'll love it!"

"Ok, we'll see what Loraine says to that," I began, but he interjected.

"So that's a . . . yes?"

"I said we'll see what Loraine says," I snapped softly.

"Nooo," said Tony, grinning with rather triumphant relief, "you implied a yes, that is, _if_ Loraine had nothing for us."

"Tony, you're pushing it," I said.

"But technically, you said yes!"

He may have been shy about it at first, but he was definitely determined.

I exhaled. "Tony. No. I can't believe you're doing this in front of everybody."

"No one cares, it's typically normal," said Tony, trying to keep it cool as though he was afraid for the first time he was being rejected. "What, you never been in a relationship before?"

"That's funny to say," I said coolly and calmly, surprisingly. "You're the one girl-hopping."

Nahlah and Pepper stared. Specifically, Nahlah was looking at me the most, then at Tony. I could only hear Renee, who was whining for Pepper to pay attention; the Black Neck gave a thin, fake smile and poked the child's nose, but kept her eyes on us once in a while.

Tony was quiet this time. He just stared at his food; his chest was heaving slightly as though he'd just came from a fight. Then he peered up at me, as if trying to figure me out.

"You're still afraid to enter relationships?" he murmured, gesticulating coldly. "Why is that, Cel?"

"Stop asking such things," I snapped.

The topic was awkward to me, yes, but I wasn't going to let Tony win.

I leaned back into my chair, giving Tony a hard stare, folding my arms to _feel_ at least that I was winning. "Who says I was afraid. I told you, I just don't prefer this relationship. We're co-workers, that's it. Loraine hired me, someone who could take her duty seriously."

"Oh, it's all about jobs?" accused Tony.

"Don't give me that. Stop being so dramatic. You're just upset because I rejected you. I don't like you, Tony. Not like that."

"Must be _used_ to saying that kind of stuff, Cel." Tony stared at me hard, his rusty eyes strangely sweet and melty.

"Okay, stop." Nahlah's whisper was so soft and nearly sad, I turned to make sure she wasn't affected by our meaningless conflict.

Tony and Pepper looked at her. Nahlah's face was quiet as she stared into space thoughtfully. ". . . I'm gonna go, now. I hope you sort things out with your friend."

I stared after her. "You're leaving?"

What was going on here? First, Tony looked like he had been hitting on Nahlah, obviously trying to make me jealous or nervous. Obviously I didn't fall for that, but I honestly didn't know which pissed me off: Nahlah being hit on, or Tony trying to make me jealous. Then, Nahlah abandoning me in a situation I didn't want to be in.

All I wanted was to be with her. She was someone who shielded me from these problems outside of our world.

"I'll see ya some other time, Ms. Celeste." Nahlah smiled at me thinly, but I saw the care in her eyes. She pulled out her money and placed it on the table, telling Pepper, the only person not verbally involved in our conflict, that it was for lunch. She thanked Pepper.

"Nice meeting you again. Maybe we'll see you at _Spa&Soul_—I'm sure Cel and Tony will. Um, I guess . . ." Pepper, nevertheless, waved good-bye to Nahlah, who gave me a secret glance before leaving the restaurant.

I watched helplessly after Nahlah, disheartened. Quickly, I told Tony, "We've only known each other for so a little time, Tony."

Then, I pushed my chair back and followed Nahlah, confused.

Once outside, I faltered her walk as she tried to cross a crosswalk. "Where do you think you're going?"

She turned to me, then pulled me along after cars were beeping at us when the pedestrian light turned red. At the other side, she turned to me.

"Celeste," she said, smiling, "go out with that man."

I looked at her, blinked, shook my head out of confusion, and blurted, _"What?"_

"He's a nice guy," said Nahlah. "I can see it in his eyes. He adores you. He cares. His perverted jokes and his silliness are amazing attributes to find in a gentleman—"

"Nahlah—Nahlah," I stopped her. "This isn't about Tony and me. Our boss gave us a day off, because starting tomorrow I'm gonna busy. We won't see each other for a while, unless I come over at night or something. To be honest, I was hoping we could hang out all day today—but then, my boss threw babysitting at me, and then Tony dragged himself and Pepper along. I really wanted to hang before tomorrow—"

"I gotta go," interrupted Nahlah, shaking her head remorsefully, "otherwise your friends will get suspicious of us. You know how it goes. See ya later, Celeste. And go out with Tony. Just one night. Apparently, you really are a virgin and need to have your first experience."

"My 'first experience'—what the hell?" I blurted. "No—okay, so I'm not a people's person. But this doesn't mean I need to prove it by going out with a guy I have no feelings for."

Nahlah looked at me strangely. ". . . I dunno, you're with him all the time."

I put hands on my fist. "Seriously. Whose fault do you think that is?"

"Yeah, but . . . I'm beginning to wonder if you're getting used to him—that you're beginning to grow a fondness."

"You _think_, but you're wrong. Yeah, we get along. He's my co-worker, why not?" I seriously didn't understand why Nahlah was throwing me away like this.

"Where do your feelings lie, huh, Cel?" Nahlah tilted her head to the side beautifully, giving me a curious, hurt, sympathetic expression.

I blinked, staring at her. ". . . What does that supposed to mean? I have no feelings. I don't want to deal with Tony."

"You don't _have_ feelings?" queried Nahlah, as if it was a rhetorical question. She said it so soft and mysteriously, I gave her another look.

"What are you getting at?" I demanded softly.

Nahlah looked at me, then switched her eyes to the people walking by us to cross the street. Looking back at me, she sighed, and smiled weakly. "I like you, Celeste. But you gotta know where you are. I mean . . . jumping from me to Tony. I feel as though you're just using me as an escape from Tony and work—as if I'm just your experiment."

My chest was struck cold and still. I couldn't believe she just said that.

Some breaths escaped my dropped jaw, but Nahlah said, "What, 'don't you have other friends'?"

What the _hell_? _Ouch_.

I couldn't believe this was happening. Over something so _stupid_.

My chest suddenly felt heavy; a drowsy, burdening atmosphere smothered me. I couldn't think clearly. My words scrambled over each other, and didn't even come out. It was that feeling that you were swallowing something stingy and heavy—maybe it was my heart, going all the way down to my stomach, nauseating it.

Nahlah, the entire time, watched me. I knew it hurt her doing this to me—all I wanted to know was _why_ she was doing it. I thought it had been me doing all the hard work trying to keep things secretive.

"I have to go," she said. "Tony's waiting for you. But try him out. Then, you'll know where you are."

Nahlah gripped her book to her chest, then turned and walked away.

I watched after her, dumbfounded. Then, I found myself shouting when she was only several yards away, "Wouldn't that be 'experimenting' with him, too?"

She turned to me, looking at me with the most confusing, illegible expression I have ever come across. "I dunno. You tell me."

And walked away.

--

I sat down, catching Tony and Pepper off guard. They were in silence, occupying themselves by tending to the needs of the Moss children.

I leaned forward, elbows heavy on the table, staring at Tony who stared back unsure. "Ok, Tony, _fine_. But _Ocho's_ better have great Thai food."

Tony just stared and blinked like a fish in a tank that hadn't gotten the idea it was swimming into its own reflection.

Pepper said calmly, yet hesitantly, "About time. The check came while you were gone. What were you saying to Nahlah anyway?"

"I was apologizing . . . for what transpired during lunch," I said, wavering. Tony was watching me silently as if I was going to set him a trap. "Plus, I was asking for another massage appointment. Something to take me away from this place."

"That appointment better be today," reminded Pepper sternly. "Tomorrow's all work, Cel."

"Yeah. I know. It'll be before Tony and I go to _Ocho's_," I confirmed.

Pepper got up and picked up Will while I took Renee's hand. It was hard to ignore Tony, yet at the same time I didn't want to deal with his face. So, I tried to act as though everything was fine. Tony silently trailed behind us as we walked out.

We returned later in the evening at Loraine's house. Her husband thanked us. Tony left with a quick, nervous wave to Pep and I—specifically me—then drove off in Loraine's car. Then, Pepper and I got into her car.

However, before she drove off, she turned to me. "Ok, what's going on?"

I looked at her, honestly confused. "Huh?"

"You and Nahlah."

I lost my breath, heart burning. _SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, double-SHIT._

I locked my jaw closed. No sound escaped. I just stared at her searching eyes, waiting for her to figure me out.

Pepper situated herself in her seat so she was comfortably engaged in conversation with me. "What were you guys talking about? Was it about Tony?"

I was silent. _I have the right to remain silent._

"Celeste," repeated Pepper, louder. ". . . You lied."

Shit. Where's a gun when you need it?

"Let me get this straight," said Pepper, lowering her voice as if afraid of eavesdropping. "You went to Nahlah about Tony, is that it?"

_Seriously?_

I blinked, staring at her, relieved, but still stunned.

She _was_ serious—she seriously thought she got me. Pepper looked at me, searching, wondering anxiously.

She frowned a bit. "C'mon, Cel. Forget it, you can't hide it. Seriously, you were scared, weren't you? Scared to go out with Tony."

I was finally able to exhale after what seemed a period of holding my breath. I stared out the windshield, hoping that would fake my inability to talk about something so awkward.

Pepper smiled a bit. "About time something interesting happened in Project Icarus. This must be true love—but within a _week_ already?"

"The drama," I agreed sarcastically. "I wouldn't call it love, either. Just infatuation, maybe. Or interest."

A completely whole-hearted lie.

My comrade started the engine, then drove out into the street. "You were acting so funny today. I _knew_ it was jealousy. Then, you ran out to talk to Nahlah, just to check to see if Tony and her had something going on. You _were_ jealous. Don't lie to me—I'm the one with the fiancé. I would know in a heartbeat when he was cheating on me—I knew how jealousy feels."

This was unlike Pepper. She was so excited, yet understanding. Her smile faded as she shot me a quick look, focusing on the road at the same time.

"Listen, Cel," she sighed. "It's okay. Relationships, they hurt. But don't try to scare love away when it's hard to find in the first place, anyway."

"Oh, wow, just what I need," I said sarcastically. I rolled my head to the side, staring out the window like a lazy child.

Pepper didn't say anything, just stared at me. Then, she said, "Where do you want me to drop you off? Stay at my place, or Reagan's . . .?"

"I want to go Running."

I hadn't heard of that capitalized verb for a while, especially from my mouth. Pepper looked at me with a blank, yet understanding look.

"Yeah, I understand. Sure. I'll drop you off back on Blake Street or something."

"No, I mean Running."

"_Oh_ . . . no, Cel. It's too dangerous. We've kept you down here in the public streets because it would be hard for the Runners to get to you. And Loraine keeping you busy with missions would keep you safe, seeing that you were with many other Black Necks."

"Aren't there other ways to be safe?"

"I'm sure. But not in Running, that's hell for sure."

"You are not my mother, nor Loraine, nor God. Let me Run."

"Celeste," argued Pepper, low tone heavy with authority. "No."

I glared. "I don't care. I'm going Running."

Pepper gave me a "ugh, you're frustrating" look before dropping me off a curb. I was very surprised that she gave up so easily. To say the least, she was the most outgoing right now, despite my last argument with her from the day of the protests.

When I got out of the car, she told me, "Hey, be careful of those Runners. And what are you going to do about your night with Tony? Want any help? Should we go shopping after your appointment—hey, wait, was that whole appointment thing a lie? You weren't talking to Nahlah about appointments, after all, right?"

I gave her a look, unsure how to lie again. She mistook it as a "Yes, it was a lie".

Pepper smiled gingerly. "Yeah, get your leisure time—if you wanna call Running leisure. But anyway, yeah, I'll keep in touch with you on this earpiece." She tossed me an earpiece, which I plugged into my ear. "Lemme know when you're done. We'll go shopping."

"Thanks. Sure."

She rolled up the window and drove off. I turned and went Running for so long, leaping, jumping, climbing, sliding, sprinting—anything to make my heart pump not just because relationships, but simply because of Running.

Author's Comment: If you're willing to go on, in the next two chapters, something big happens.


	21. Flightless Bird American Mouth

Chapter 21:

Flightless Bird (American Mouth)

It had been so long since I listened to my iPod. I pulled it out after halting during my run on the rooftops. I put on _Bring Me to Life_, by the artist whose name I could never find. It was such an old song played way back, yet it felt new to me. It refreshed me emotionally. There are times when you just needed a song to match your mood, no matter how worse it made your mood feel.

I continued Running—away from Tony, away from Nahlah, away from Project Icarus, away from life. The Edge was the void between life and death: one jump, and it could be over, or it could be another awkward landing onto the next rooftop.

I reconsidered the Edge. I found myself balancing like a ballerina along the Edge, a skyscraper behind me. I turned, wondering stupidly if someone was on the other side of the mirror, doing their work, carrying on with their "life". This was where my philosophy of life became "death" where sufferings only existed, and death became "life" seeing that no one suffered. It was peace, just how life was supposed to be—one of the reasons why I didn't really believe in God anymore.

As I ran, my vision was murky by overwhelming thoughts and memories. They brought me back to Nahlah and my conflict, which seemed solid, fresh, all flesh and blood. Just like that. As if the memory jumped there on its feet right in front of me.

Nahlah was . . . right, I realized. I was fooling myself—in the process, fooling everyone. I didn't know what was real anymore. I couldn't believe within a week or so this all had happened: being a Runner, betraying my fellow Runners, meeting Nahlah, then switching to Project Icarus just to see her, now Tony coming into the picture.

Holy fuck, what was I _doing_?

I suddenly reminded myself the reason why I turned over to Project Icarus.

_Nahlah._

Weird things flashed in my vision: Tony, his jokes, how he saved me from Loraine, always trying to cheer me up, always being there even though I never wanted him to, and then the emotions his face took throughout today's events.

It was 4:00 by the time I realized I had run too long.

Pepper was beeping in. "Heyyyy, are you listening to your music?"

Another memory flashed: _Merc._

I shook my head, and looked down at the city below me. After being up here for so long, I missed Running. The city was just a prison of emotions. Up here, it was all about weightlessness—the only "emotion" was freedom.

"CELESTE!" She screeched deep enough; the whine of my earpiece comms completely overwhelmed my music. I unplugged the one earphone from my ear. It dangled on my shoulder, while I whipped my hair back from the warm breeze on the Edge.

"I'm here. And my name's Vanity," I began.

"Forget the codename. Everyone in this city—at least Blues and Runners—know who you are."

"Does anyone _not_ know me?"

_Anyone but Nahlah . . . _

My mind snapped: Nahlah was the only person who didn't know me. She knew me as Celeste, but not Celeste Post the ex-Runner who became a Black Neck. Everyone else knew me as both Celeste the Runner and Celeste the Black Neck.

"That's deep, Cel. Look," said Pepper, focusing. "Meet me at the New Eden Mall. We all know how great of a mall it is. Let's pick out a dress."

"Wait—_dress_? I can understand a beautiful formal shirt or something, but why go as far balls concern?" I demanded, eyes bulging.

"Well, you wanna look good for Tony, right?"

"This is a bit too . . . chick, ya know?"

"Fine. We'll go with some dashing top or something."

"Can't believe we're aiming for clothes that may encourage his perverted mind," I joked.

Pepper chuckled. "You're right. But hey, I'm not the one who fell for such a perverted mind." I was silent on that one. Pepper nearly burst laughing. "Wow, you're sensitive."

"Can we get something straight?" I declared, determined.

"What's that?"

"I am not a virgin," I corrected fiercely. "I've been with plenty of guys in my teenage years. C'mon, cut me some slack."

Pepper laughed, this time. This was the first time I seriously heard her laugh. "_Wow_. You're still sensitive, though. Whatever—c'mon, let's get you a beautiful shirt or something."

--

Shopping took an hour and a half. Pepper may not be the girly, gregarious girl, but she sure was picky.

"Hm, I heard that men find red the top hottest color on a woman," said Pepper aloud, parting racks of clothes hangers apart.

"Which is why I'm gonna wear gray," I joked.

She laughed lightly, then pulled out some dresses, mostly red. "C'mon, throw these on. After all, the color still suits the Runner within."

"Awe, I feel all cozy inside." I took the dresses to the fitting room. After several tries, I ended up liking only one red dress. Liking my pick, Pepper and I finalized that it was my dress for the night.

Just as we walked by a clothes rack, my eyes caught something rose-red. Pepper, sensing I wasn't following her, turned around as I pulled out a hot strapless red shirt.

"Cel, I thought this was formal."

"Dates don't always have to be formal. It's like back in our teenage years when we just wore jeans or skirts and sweaters," I retorted, twisting it to take a look at it from all angles. "I like it."

"C'mon, I really liked that dress, Celeste."

"Lemme try this on first before you complain." I tossed her the dress while I carried the shirt away.

"And what do you plan to wear with that for pants and shoes?"

"I hate high-heels, in all honesty, which is one of the reasons why I'm avoiding the dress right now."

"I thought we were trying to cover up as much as possible from Tony's perverted eyes," called Pepper over my stall's door.

"Well, it's a date, right?"

Pause. "So you _are_ trying to please him?"

"When you word it that way, I refuse to agree. It's a fucking date, one and only one, Pep."

I examined my red shirt in the mirror, turning myself around to check the different angles. Endless red laces crisscrossed my entire bare back, exposing slits of my skin. I turned, facing my front. The whole strapless shirt on the front lacked logos or any other details, which I liked.

"So . . .?" Pepper knocked on the door.

I looked at my shirt again in the mirror. Then, at myself. My observant smile faded as I stared at the woman imprisoned by the meaningless luxuries of earrings, pretty shirts, eye-liner, and shopping.

"Celeste?

My stare lingered until finally a burning burst of adrenaline took over. I fisted the mirror. It wasn't hard enough to break, but I made tiny cracks, on which my fist laid trembling. I didn't dare to look at myself in the mirror, not any more. The Runner wasn't there, I had broken her face.

"CEL?" Pepper was pounding.

I opened the door, presenting my shirt. Pepper stared, then smiled thinly. "Looks good."

"Thanks."

She peered behind me, then gave me a disappointing bulge of her eyes. "Cel, you didn't . . .!?"

I turned, seeing the cracked glass.

"Sorry, I was holding the clothes hanger, turned, and hit the glass."

Pepper stared at me, obviously not falling for the obvious. She stared, face unchanged, but eyes emphasizing concern. "A simple motion like that could not possibly crack thick-ass glass, Celeste. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I told her, eyeing her hard. Then, I went back inside. "I want this shirt. Let's go."

--

"What are you going to wear with it?" asked Pepper when we left with my new purchase. "Jeans and flat-heels or something?"

"NO. Just sneakers."

She gawked at me. "This is a date with _Tony_. How are you gonna flatter him with sneakers?"

Her tone was low, mature, beautiful, and soft; I couldn't tell whether or not to take her seriously.

"This shirt should work," I assured her with a goofy, small smile. "After all, Tony's perverted whether I have clothes on or not. Being in between should be fine, right?"

Pepper tried to restrain a grin. "This is crazy. I cannot believe this all happened so fast within an hour. One day! Reagan and Loraine will get a kick outta this."

"What have they been doing, anyway? Anything new?" I asked as we got into her car.

"Just more Runners, which you'll be doing tomorrow. So you'd better enjoy tonight," threatened Pepper with a tender smile.

We drove off.

"Hey, can I stop to get a pair of jeans?"

"Yeah, sure. You can borrow mine. We'll go to my house."

At her house, after slipping dark-blue skinny jeans on, Pepper gave an approving sweep of my image. "You're a _Victoria's Secret_ model."

"That's the last thing I wanna be," I reminded her. "Being a Runner was my passion. We could take those _Victorai's Secret_ models on, even if they weren't wearing their high heels."

"Hey, don't be biased," snickered Pepper. "You're one of them right now."

I cocked an awkward smile in response. Then, I found myself drifting into thought. Pepper looked at me funny.

"What is it? Did you forget something at the mall?"

"No, no." I squinted into thought, then looked up at her. "It's just that . . .Tony and I never discussed when we'd meet at _Ocho's_."

"Oh. I'll give him a buzz." Pepper moved to her kitchen.

Meanwhile, Reagan homed in. I had forgotten I still had my earpiece in. I flinched.

"What the _hell_, girl? He DID get you drunk! You _lied_—because you were _drunk_!" she burst.

I couldn't help but grin. "Hey, who's the one who told everyone about us?"

"So, it _is_ true . . ." Her gasp was quiet and shocked.

"You're the one who spread the rumors," I reminded her strictly, again.

"They're not rumors, Cel. Because now they're officially the _truth_—they are news," she exploded, excited, just as I had thought when we talked at her place the other night.

Thinking about my last night at Reagan's, I suddenly asked, "Hey, by the way, was it you who gave Tony ideas? It feels like it."

"Hey, hey, you're the one who brought him up the other night!" defended Reagan.

"YEAH, but just simply WONDERING where he lived!" I roared. "It meant nothing, it was a harmless question, and you blew it out of proportion."

"Aren't you _glad_, though? I mean, who knew, Canon and Post dating. Woo, it's giving me a workout over here."

It was strange how I was laughing on the communicator with Reagan, my most recent enemy in the beginning. It wasn't as if I had ever concerned myself with her being my "enemy", it was just, the whole "enemies" thing was _annoying_, not concerning. Maybe she was in a good mood, seeing she did something unselfish and for the greater good by spreading rumors that encouraged Tony to ask me out. I wondered what she told him that made him so hopeful—it all made sense. Ever since talking to her, he acted more hopeful and determined than ever.

"Reagan, I'm gonna kill you anyway," I told her.

"Do that after you have sex with the most perverted guy in Shard City."

I glowered into my earpiece. "Now that you said that, _now_ I'll kill you."

"So you _will_ do him?" pressed Reagan casually, yet forcefully.

I exhaled, frustrated. This awkward conversation was blowing out of proportion and there I was going along with it as if it was harmless.

Pepper entered the living room. "I know it's late, but Tony sounds like he's been struggling what to put on for the date. He's warding it off to 9:00, he hopes you don't mind."

"No, not at all," I said.

Pepper added, "I also told him how hot you looked."

I stared at her. "Did you really have to do that?"

"Sorry, I'm excited. So, I guess this makes us friends." Her _tone_! Do I take her seriously?

"And you blame me for taking our jobs down to personal measures." I rolled my eyes, returning to my talk with Reagan. "What's going on up there at the Shard with Loraine?"

"We caught five more Runners today. A lot of work than it sounds," said Reagan, sighing. "Not to mention bolstering city security against them. Also, more protests, but nothing big. No one got hurt, not even were guns aimed. A bit pushing, yeah, but, hey, progress. See? Look where passive force brought us—not a single gun was pulled out! Protests are dying, now that we got five more Runners jailed."

I thought about Reagan's "good news". Wow, five more Runners. I started praying there weren't anymore, because I was sick of hearing about it.

"Well, I'm going. Have a blast." Reagan hung up before I could say good-bye.

"Ready?" Pepper stood behind me, smiling as if we were going off toward a tasteful battle we knew we'd win. "You look good, don't worry."

Did I look worried? I returned Pepper's lit eyes, which suddenly faded into a faint blue as she looked at me. She folded her arms.

"What is it?"

I looked out her window. Nothing but city lights, the usual, so I didn't stare out the windows anymore.

"Celeste?" urged Pepper softly.

"Sorry. Um, I'm . . . what time is it?" I shook my head to get out of it.

"You've got an hour until the date. _Ocho's_ thirty minutes away. Why . . .?" Pepper's eyes pasted to my face. "Ok, what's going on? Are you nervous? Don't be, Cel—"

"Can you drop me downtown, just quickly?" I blurted, standing there dumbly.

"Hold on," interrupted Pepper.

She gave me a quick overlook before approaching me, reaching up, and yanking my ponytail out. Reflexively, my hands snapped up, but didn't feel a ponytail. Ignoring my aghast expression, Pepper's fingers harped through my hair, smoothing it out. She smiled as she stepped back.

"There." She looked, letting my new image sink in. "Wow . . . you're beautiful with your hair down. Oh my _god_."

I didn't want to look at myself anymore ever since the mirror incident at the mall.

I smiled weakly. "How does it look?"

"You look _great_—here." Before I could speak, Pepper reached up to her own ears and took out chain-like earrings. "Take my sterling silver. With your hair down like that, it frames your face nice. These earrings make your face stand out, in contrast to your eyes. Ohmygod, you are not Celeste Post. What have you done with her?"

I couldn't help but smile as she chuckled.

Finally, she said, "Nervous, huh? I guess it wouldn't hurt to stroll downtown. Maybe I'll bring along my dog for a stroll—"

"No, just by myself," I begged softly.

Pepper took another curious look at me before nodding. "Okay. Let me get my coat. I'll come and pick you up in an hour at the memorial fountain. I'll tell Tony about it. He's probably doing the same thing, ha."

"Thanks."

--

Once Pepper dropped me off at the park, I tossed my earpiece. Then, I called a taxi and drove back to Nahlah's.

Knocking on the door anxiously, I stood there, waiting, rocking uncomfortably on my feet. My sneakers squeaked underneath me like frightened mice. The door opened seconds later.

Nahlah looked at me, then her eyes stretched. "_Cel?_ Is—is that you?"

I didn't know what sent her eyes popping most: my appearance or the fact that I was here at her doorstep 8:00 at night. Nahlah's warm eyes levitated up and down my new image, mouth nearly open. For some reason, this sent my skin crawling with an excited, yet anxious flush.

"Hey," I said, sounding like I just let go of my breath. I smiled. "Sorry, um . . ."

"What are you doing here? You . . . you're dressed," she stated suddenly.

I nodded, not sure how to word my thoughts and feelings.

Nahlah wiped what could have been sleep or utter confusion from her eyes, just to clear her vision and mind. Her eyes flickered up and down again. "Um . . . what are you doing here? Did something happen—?"

The brunette paused before I could answer. She stared. ". . . Wait, are . . . are you going out with Tony?"

My lips remained sealed as I tried to force the words out. Instead, I swallowed quietly, nodding quickly but barely.

Crestfallen, Nahlah looked at me again, then at the floor, then at my new image. "Um, okay. But, what are you doing here? Did you go out with him already or are you about to?"

"Can I come in?" I blurted. After all, I was making a complete fool out of myself. I couldn't speak.

"Does Tony know where you are?" she pressed, ignoring my plight.

"Um, yes and no. Nahlah, just—can I come in?"

Nahlah's expression was still puzzled, but it softened as she smiled. "Sure."

I walked in. I sensed her eyes still scanning me as I brushed into her house. When she closed the door, she couldn't help but chuckle lightly as she folded her arms, eyes aiming downward.

"I like the sneakers," she joked.

I turned, smiling with her. "Yeah, I hate high-heels."

She nodded, smirking. "Okay. But that's not what you're here to tell me, is it?"

I sat down on her sofa; I've missed it already. I looked up at her. "Nahlah . . . I'm nervous."

Not sure how to interpret my words, Nahlah's eyes surveyed her whole room as she collected her thoughts, before looking back at me. "Nervous about, about the date?"

"Um . . . kinda, yeah."

I didn't know why I was there anyway, of all places.

Nahlah slowly walked toward me, but never really sat down. She was searching her room, as if her eyes would find the answer somewhere around her.

"Celeste . . ." she began, folding her arms uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

"I dunno," I burst.

She stared, silent, with a still face I couldn't read—a face I could never read.

"Celeste, you need to go," she said. Her voice sounded broken and hesitant. "You need to go see Tony. You need it."

I shot her a look. Since when did I _need_ Tony?

"Because apparently he's been there for you more than I could ever try," admitted Nahlah solemnly, looking at the floor. "You're with him a lot, especially during work, the most consuming hours of your day. Maybe even sometimes at night time."

"Tony's only comforted me once. He hasn't done anything," I fought.

Nahlah looked at me. "What are you trying to get at, here, Cel? What are you doing _here_?"

"I dunno. I . . . had to see you, first."

These short words sent a whole new wave of emotion over Nahlah's face. She looked at me, speechless, face not too lit, or too dull to mistaken as indifference.

Nahlah situated her crossed arms, trying to speak. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

I honestly didn't.

"How could I face him anyway if I have no feelings for him?"

"Is this what it's about, Celeste?" asked Nahlah, capturing me in her eyes. "You're going on a date so you can get to know him."

"You sound as though you're trying to get rid of me," I asked, trying to grin. "Aren't we friends?"

Nahlah smiled, shaking her head as if sarcastically. "We are, Cel. But, look. Since of earlier today, I realized that things have been difficult for you. I think you're struggling with yourself over what or whom you need. You need Tony. Whether you like it or not, he's the person who's always there."

I stared quietly at her, then at my hands. "How do you know that? I'm with him too much, why do you think I like hanging out with you on my free time?"

"Celeste, I like you. I adore you," whispered Nahlah. I looked up, unable to speak; she smiled widely. "But . . . things have gotten complicated. You're torn between a great guy for you, and me, your friend."

I stared at her, that last sentence mowing in my head painfully like an awful memory.

Nahlah approached me slowly until she was towering over me. I didn't dare look up. My eyes remained on my hands in my lap.

"You look beautiful with your hair down; I didn't recognize you," she whispered.

"No offense, but I thought a hot hooker appeared at my doorstep."

I let out a chuckle.

Nahlah knelt down, holding my face in her hands. She wiped out some loose strands, looking into my eyes.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, smiling into my face. "Tony will love you."

I let the moment linger as I found myself smiling, feeling better: my heart peaked to a heavy pound. I thought it was overflowing with blood. From my lap, my eyes wandered into hers.

"Nervous, hm?"

"Yeah," I answered, barely a whisper. I chuckled. "I'm not sure if I can dance, either, whether in high-heels or sneakers."

She smiled softly. I sat up, parallel to her face, our eyes even as she released my face from her hands.

"You don't know how to dance?" she suddenly burst, frowning.

I corrected her. "Yeah, I _do_. I just, suck."

"Right, right, because you're a virgin." A teasing smile tugged at what at first looked like a joking disappointed frown.

"Here." Nahlah stood up and went to her iPod stereo. "I'll show you, it's easy."

Impacted, I stared at her back, which was turned as she scoped her songs. I struggled with my lips to say something, but I didn't. By then, a band of hushed male voices started serenading.

"I don't know this song, I don't think," I said.

_"I was a quick, wet boy diving too deep for coins; all of your stray, light eyes wide on my plastic toys. Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long, baby hair; stole me a dog-eared map. Called for you everywhere . . ."_

"_Flightless Bird, American Mouth_," answered Nahlah, turning around. She clasped her hands, ready. "A nice, slow dance. Get you and Tony in the mood."

_"And I found you, flightless bird. Jealous, weeping . . ."_

"Oh please, not the mood," I joked, grinning, resting my arms out along the crest of the sofa.

Nahlah walked over, smirking, too. She stood a foot from me, looking at me funny, before saying, "Don't get comfortable, you're gonna get up and dance."

I looked at her. Giving a fake smile, I shook my head, waving the dance off. "No. I don't dance. Dance is for chicks."

Nahlah rolled her eyes, yet smiled. "Right. C'mon, get up."

"It's a _Thai_ restaurant, Nahlah," I stressed, laughing. "We're not gonna get serious or anything. It's no ball room or anything. I hate dancing, anyway. Especially slow dancing."

"How _do_ you enjoy clubs, parties, or concerts, then?" teased Nahlah.

Before I answered as I couldn't help but smile, Nahlah reached out her hand, waving it. "C'mon, Celeste. What happens if he tries to bring you to a concert, or outside into a random park to dance?"

"He'll rape me," I answered jokingly. She rolled her eyes, hand still insisting for mine, while I threw her a thoughtful look. "With you? Sorry, you're not my type."

She put hands on her fists, staring. "That's not funny."

"I'm serious," I told her flatly, still smiling though. "You're too brunette, with blinding bright eyes, and you're too beautiful. I can't take it. It annoys me."

The brunette stared, then beamed. "Perfect, then. Too bad. C'mon."

She grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me up. I refused. Our playful smiles, however, didn't stress how serious we actually were.

"You're gonna learn how to properly do a date," said Nahlah, tugging effortlessly, obviously joking. "C'mon, I don't wanna force you."

"You were just _tugging_—"

"_Celeste_. It won't be bad. It's the slowest, easiest thing you could do."

"I told you, I know how to dance—I just suck, and I don't like it."

"Yeahhh you will," said Nahlah. "Why don't you like it?"

"It gives people watching all the time in the world to observe everything about you."

"You _are_ sensitive."

"Leave me alone."

Her smirks never stopped. She pulled. For the first time with her, I was agitated. When she saw this, she stopped, looking at me—an irresistible, cute expression that made me think of a puppy I couldn't upset_. Dammit, I thought those couldn't work on me._ I gave an exaggerated sigh before surrendering. I followed her out onto the open, spacious floor. She situated us both an inch apart from each other, standing straight. Exhaling, she lent me her hand.

"C'mon," she urged. "You're gonna have a perfect date if you do this right. It just . . . I dunno, _completes_ it."

"There is no such thing as a perfect date," I told her, serious. "You look like someone who would know that."

"Okay, yeah," she agreed, folding her arms, "but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try having fun."

"I dunno. You like women. I find this awkward," I said, grinning.

She fired a heavy blue glare before grinning along, arching a questioning eye brow. "C'mon, Cel. These fingers will age."

I laughed lightly, then returned to the subject. "And what if I _don't_ want the date to go perfect—seeing that I don't have any feelings for Tony?"

"You will, you do," confirmed Nahlah. "Once you kiss him."

I looked at her in a long pause. She lowered her eyes, before rubbing her lips together shyly, and demanded softly, "Your hand, Celeste. We dance."

I looked at her hands, then at her, and replayed what she just said. "Nahlah, I'm not gonna kiss him just to see if I like him."

She didn't answer, just kept her hand out with an impatient, yet shy look. I stared at her, unsure. However, my hand lightly and slowly as if on its own ascended and grasped Nahlah's. The contact was warm, soft, and . . . _amazing_. I looked at our hands. She softly tightened her hand. I was suddenly frozen, unable to react at all except let her do all the work as I looked down at her.

Nahlah looked up at me, smiling. She then gently slipped her hand into my other free hand and had me wrap my hand around her waist.

"Now, you told me you've been on dates and danced before, so _prove_ it to me," she ordered.

She looked up into my eyes, while I finally obeyed. Our bodies were suddenly brushing each other slightly, chests softly padding each other, hands intertwined, my other hand holding her close to me, her other free hand lightly rested on my shoulder.

"Um, Nahlah . . ." I began, staring at us.

"What?" She looked up at me, just as we started dancing to the lyrics.

"Tony's not my height," I said.

We both stared at each other, observing how I was taller than Nahlah by a few inches—then ended up laughing shortly before shutting up.

"Yeah, this is a problem," concurred Nahlah, chuckling.

We were _dancing_, despite the "problem".

I looked down at Nahlah after our share of giggles. ". . . No . . . we're fine."

She looked up at me as we continued drifting.

_"Now I'm a fat house cat, nursing my sore blunt tongue; watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks; pissing on magazines . . ."_

"What the fuck is with these lyrics?" I blurted.

I couldn't help it. I'd been subconsciously listening to them, for their random selection of lyrics to such a lovely, lullaby-like song bugged me.

Nahlah chuckled, amused by my taste in lyrics. "I dunno the artists, but the last time I heard it was when I watched some movie that was originally a popular series back when we were kids. _Twilight,_ by Stephanie Meyer."

I nodded in response. I had no idea who the hell Stephanie Meyer or what _Twilight_ was.

We were still cradled in each other's arms, swaying, rocking, dancing, drifting, whatever you wanted to call it. Whatever it was, it was light, slow, beautiful, and perfect.

I took in this slow hour to examine every flicker of light on Nahlah, who was still in her orange tanktop and jean skirt from lunch. Light softened her shady, milk-warm eyes, which were looking away subconsciously, drawing my wandering eyes close. Her Mexican shade of skin pouted her sweet, perfumed collarbone. The dim light flooded her skin flawlessly, as if it was her makeup, toning her defined cheekbones the right color. A slight tinge of gold outlined her thick hair. I randomly outlined the thin, straight bridge of her narrow, yet pinched nose, and found myself gazing at her thin, wide lips. They were so thin and fragile looking, but accessible and beautiful, igniting a strange fire inside me.

It was these very features that ruptured my heart. I thought I was dying.

I heard that it was personality before looks that made someone a true character to another's eyes. However, I reconsidered that: a little beauty was needed.

"Celeste," murmured Nahlah, locking our eyes.

"Hm?"

"You should get going—what time were you meeting Tony?"

"It was 9:00, but now it's 10:00," I told her.

"Okay, well, I'm glad you came here to clear your head," whispered Nahlah. "You look . . . more relaxed . . ."

We suddenly stopped, but we were still holding on to each other softly, yet carefully as if afraid to hurt the other.

"I don't think I can go," I returned.

My voice suddenly shook, I don't know why, but I restrained it.

However, Nahlah sensed it. She sensed it more than anyone ever could. Her hands found the planes of my cheeks, quickly, before brushing loose strands from my face again.

"It's just a date. You'll know your answers after it. Let it pass."

I looked at her uncertainly, while she suddenly reached around my head and pulled my hair up into its familiar ponytail. She smiled: "There you are."

With her own hair elastic, she tied it up.

I stared, speechless, eyes invading every plane of her face.

"You look beautiful with your hair down," said Nahlah, her hands tugging my ponytail briefly. "But I prefer this, like when we met."

I nodded, smiling weakly. I sighed. ". . . I guess I should go."

Nahlah smiled, whispering, "You know I care about you, Celeste. I understand how stressing this is for you. So, if things go wrong, lemme know. I'm here."

And she kissed me.


	22. Flightless Bird::American Mouth

Chapter 22:

(Flightless Bird) American Mouth

As quickly as she did it, she withdrew. A strange, icy feeling gutted me in the heart, in the mind, in my stomach—everywhere. My limbs went numb, my mouth froze as Nahlah's lips left it, and my muscles felt like they had been electrocuted.

Instinctively, both Nahlah and I stepped back from each other.

The moment her lips had left mine, Nahlah was covering her mouth with her hands. Tears had fallen so quickly after realizing what she'd had let slip. I couldn't tell if she was trying to hold in a gasp of sobs at the sight of my petrified state or at what she'd just done.

It happened so quickly, as if I had no control—yet I did.

Because I could control whether or not to forgive her and chase after her, or let her run while I stood there in disgust.

But a fiery rush replaced my icy state and overwhelmed my decision-making abilities to the extent that I realized my heart was pulling itself in all directions.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I am so, so, _so_, sorry—!"

Nahlah was already wheeling around and fleeing toward the door, clumsily snatching her coat along the way. I felt so light, yet pushed back, as I pursued. I was flying—not just because I was so fast as a Runner, but because of that strange burning throughout my entire being.

Just as Nahlah's hand twisted the doorknob, I grabbed it, stopping her.

She turned around, but was unable to look at me, as if strictly forbidden. I leaned against the doorframe, staring at her breathlessly, hand still gripping her wrist.

"What are you _doing_?" she whispered, tears slowly peeling.

_She is so beautiful when she cries._ I couldn't help but stare.

Strangely enough, I spoke, steady and calm. "Um . . . this is _your_ house," I reminded her.

Nahlah refused to look at me. "Tony . . ." she gasped, whole being shuddering.

She tugged weakly as I restrained her calmly. I tugged, too, as I bent down and stole my own kiss without meaning to. I caught her shocked breath; it entered me, as I smoothly and slowly inhaled her entire being. She was still in shock, unable to move except to accept my kiss. My other hand found her waist, through the process of wandering up and down her back or hip in passionate strokes.

_Flightless Bird, American Bird_ was just fading into its ending serenade of humming men and swaying music. By then, Nahlah gave up as our lips wrestled softly but passionately; she let out a gasp, which I was sure was a sob. I took over as I used her one hand I held to press her against the door, making it click shut.

There was no time to take quick breathers; there was never enough time in this world. But now there was, because I was in Nahlah's house, and I had her right there.

Nahlah's hands groped my jaw line, neck, collarbone, arms; they swept and cradled under my ponytail. She urgently pressed against the back of my neck, making our long, undisturbed kiss deeper.

_This_ was something I knew I would never feel for Tony.

My heart flickered as if in flames, along with every nerve in my body. My senses tingled, but weakened, as nothing seemed to exist around me except for these lips.

Why had I been Running from _this_?

Nahlah and I broke into long gasps as we unlocked lips, but that was merely for a second. I wouldn't let her go, not anymore. I found myself pushing more than ever into her to the point that I lifted her up against the wall. She didn't do anything, just encouraged the lift; I held her up by one of her legs, still holding her face with my other hand while my lips attacked her with undying desire.

_Why had Nahlah run away from me when I finally began to show how much I needed her?_

I noted to myself mentally that I would ask her what that was all about, but the thought slipped like ice as I steered Nahlah and I toward her sofa. I pushed her backwards, gently yet fiercely, mouths still embracing slowly yet lovingly, enjoying the moment.

We were tugging and clawing at each other's hair and clothes. From there, I was aiming for the sofa, but screw that, we couldn't wait a _second_ longer. We collapsed right there in the middle of the floor, missing the sofa by two or three feet. I leaned over her, crushing her whole body from existence, taking in her lips as she reached up, begging. Our faint breathing and once in a while outbursts of gasps overpowered _Flightless Bird, American Mouth_; my lips nibbled slowly down her bare neck, to which her breathing was slightly audible. Quickly, I returned to her lips, which was all I wanted.

Then, my lips intruded further down her bare neck. Out of my control, my hands slid under her shirt furiously with zealous. Curiosity and adventure exploited my mind, forcing me to search, to explore, to claim what I wanted.

Nahlah's lips still greeted mine, but then she broke into a soft gasp. Her hand grabbed my wrist, trying to stop me.

"No, Cel . . ."

For the second time in a long time, we withdrew from each other, gasping, absorbed into each other's eyes as if that was all that existed.

"What's wrong?" I gasped, breathing; my lips lingered toward hers, yearning.

Nahlah barely gasped, ". . . Tony . . ."

_"You don't care."_ I imprisoned her lips with my own once again to shut her up. She gave up so easily, loving it. My hands continued to surf underneath her shirt, while her hand groped for the zipper of my jeans. Multi-tasking, lips still latched on to each other, our hands simultaneously fumbled for each other's clothes. It was so clumsy and hysterical, but we didn't care. I wanted to see every detail of her, lust and passion pumping my adrenaline, surging my heart with joy.

Everything felt so light, so _easy_ with her. Never had I tried to act or pretend who I wasn't to impress Nahlah. She saw right through me and loved me, anyway. I don't know why, or what she saw in me, but she loved me. And for me, all I could see was an angel in her eyes.

_Lips of An Angel . . ._

Suddenly, Nahlah gently pushed me in the chest, off her.

"Celeste, not now."

I paused, looking down at her. I ignored her eyes as I admired her up and down. Her body was so gentle, so fragile, I wanted to protect everything of her, but claim everything. My eyes selfishly traced the beautiful muscled line down her mid-drift. I felt my hands ride along her strong thigh, up to her ass.

_"Cel . . .!"_ Nahlah removed herself from underneath me. I sat up, gawking at her, confused.

"What is it?" I murmured, standing up with her.

Nahlah stared at me so beautifully; I couldn't help but gawk, such in a dreamy ecstasy. All I saw was this gentle, hot woman in her lingerie, peering down at me with such luminous eyes.

She absorbed my falling, confused face. She took my face into her hands and pressed a beautiful kiss. I kept us attached, wrapping my hands around her bare back, pressing her to me.

Nahlah, however, pulled away gently. She smiled. "It's been an hour, you should get to Tony before he panics."

"Yeah right—an _hour_?" I said, cocking an eyebrow at her. "That all happened so quick—yet so . . . slow, and _perfect_ . . ."

Now that she knew she had me, she stared at me, taking in my face, my smirk, my arched eyebrow, my eyes that lusted for her.

Quickly, she stuttered, "Just go before he sends the police searching for you."

"He doesn't spaz _that_ much."

"I dunno," she said, smiling along, kissing me again. Pulling back, she rubbed her lips smoothly and slowly, as if tasting my kiss. ". . . God, you kiss . . . well."

"Told you I wasn't a virgin," I told her, grinning. "Wanna try some more? I got more to prove."

She grinned, but blocked my incoming kiss with her finger. "Later. We'll do this later. Besides, we're in my living room."

I followed her uncomfortable, yet grinning gaze out the big room-length window.

"Do you think anyone saw?"

"No one really looks out at night, right? Besides, I have a fence—it's not tall, but it's better than nothing."

I grinned at her, which she returned. Then, she frowned. "But I think we both know Tony. He's territorial, determined, and overreactive."

I nearly pouted, still hoping to kept this beautiful image in front of me for as long as possible. The brunette shook her head fondly, smiling.

Rolling my eyes, I gave an exasperated sigh. "Ugh, fine."

Smirking, Nahlah pulled my face in again, kissing me slowly yet fervently. "Go, quick."

"I'll go," I said, my breath hanging over her slightly parted mouth. "But only because I know I won't feel anything with Tony like I do with you."

Nahlah goggled at me, sending my heart up my throat this time that I could sing. It fluttered violently, but I loved it.

I stood up reluctantly, hand gradually sliding out of Nahlah's. I could tell it was frustrating for her to watch me dress as my back faced her; I spread my arms over my head to slip into my hot new shirt.

Nahlah frowned, studying my shirt. "Your shirt's okay, but I personally don't like it."

Huh, I thought she'd like some back muscles. I looked over my shoulders at her slyly. "If you don't like it, I can take it off again."

She stared, face absorbing red, then shook her head with a blushed smile. "No, date first."

In the process of trying to get into my jeans, Nahlah came from behind me, embracing me, tempted. The contact of her body so close to me, like a hug, sent me thoughtless. I went frozen, but I smiled with her. Silently, her hands caressed up my legs as I stood half-way into my jeans.

"Should I help you with that?" she whispered, resting her head against my back.

I chuckled. "I have it. Besides, you're telling me to leave as soon as possible. You just might tempt me again."

"Sorry." We smiled nevertheless. She combed her way from behind me to around me. I leaned down and kissed her again, this time our kiss slow and loving.

"Keep your pants up, Cel!" she laughed after breaking our kiss.

I tried to catch the jeans I accidentally let go, but she caught them for me. We laughed as I finally fought them on, along with my sneakers. She walked me to the door, still in her lingerie, which I found kind of funny. As I opened the door a slit so no one saw her, I slipped through it, turned around, and peeked at her through the crack, smiling. She kissed me, which was her mistake. I burst through the door again and kissed her playfully.

Nahlah pushed me back, declaring, "Don't spoil yourself."

"Why not?"

"No more," she authorized. "That way, when you come back, they'll be good and new."

I nodded, understanding. But I stole one last quick kiss before closing the door.

Then, feeling invincible, I turned, and walked into the darkness, having memorized the way from Nahlah's to downtown where I could pick up a taxi. Not that I was paying attention—the memory of our first kiss blinded me more than the darkness around me.

--

Everything seemed so much brighter, now. Even the night seemed beautiful; I glimpsed at the city lights I got sick of, and smiled.

When I arrived at _Ocho's_, this empty feeling emerged: _I didn't want to be here_. I wanted to be with Nahlah. Everything felt foreign.

I reluctantly searched for Tony, taking my time. A waiter stopped me as I walked by the PLEASE WAIT sign obliviously.

"Do you have reservations, Miss . . .?" he questioned.

"Post," I answered, pointing at his list, "I'm here with Canon. Tony Canon?"

He paused, read the list, and nodded. He gestured ahead. "Right this way, Ms. Post . . . Mr. Canon's been expecting you."

He led me right to Tony, who sat slumped and hopeless in his chair. It was a rather funny, childish sight: his fist squashed his face as it rested against his cheek. I saw that he had shaved those whiskers off, which caught me surprised.

Tony looked up as the waiter pulled my seat out. I sat down, slipping my thanks. The waiter asked what I wanted, but I waved him away with a polite shake of my head. "Give us five minutes," I told him.

When the waiter left, Tony looked at me, unable to speak.

I situated myself comfortably in my seat, then beamed nervously at him. "Heyy. Look, I'm really sorry . . ." I began.

He jumped down my throat: "NO, no, it's fine! I thought something happened—I couldn't sit still!"

I stared at him, at his obvious concern.

"I tried contacting Pepper. She said she'd drop you off downtown so you could 'have some time to yourself'!"

I looked at a nearby clock high up on a wall. It was 10:20 p.m. My delayed arrival was twenty minutes late after our reservations.

"Dammit, Cel," whispered Tony, more to himself than to me, "you worried Pepper. She said she was gonna pick you up by ten and that you'd be here soon after—but then we lost connection with your comms! We couldn't track you down—damn, now I gotta call her—is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Tony—I'm here, right? Calm down," I told him soothingly, smiling.

Tony sat back in his chair, looking at me helplessly, unable to express more than that. "What the fuck did you do with your earpiece?"

"I tossed it."

"WHY?"

"Because I felt like it."

He looked at me like a deer staring at the headlights of an oncoming car. It was as if it was our first time talking, making him so nervous, not knowing what to say to me.

"You okay?" I asked, staring.

He grinned goofily. "You know me, Cel. When I see a hot girl—especially in that shirt—I am more than okay."

That was the Tony I knew. I found myself smiling—but I realized not with relief, but with joy. And not because of Tony—but because of my _Dirty Little Secret._ The song with the same title started playing in my head. I nearly grinned to myself.

Tony looked at me quietly, frowning. "Whoa, you're smiling. You don't smile to my dirty jokes—"

"Stop worrying," I defended, smirking at him. "I'm sorry I didn't arrive on time."

He looked at me, going with the topic, curious anyway. "What happened anyway?"

I shook my head, sighing. "I guess . . . I needed fresh air. Now that I'm not a Runner, the luxury life and heavy duty is kinda suffocating me. I think I gained weight."

He gave me a look before chuckling. The tone of his voice reassured me that he was back to his normal self. I smiled with him. After we settled down, he looked at me inquiringly.

"Is everything okay?"

My thoughts felt like personified grins as I tried to restrain my smirk. Abby Payne's _Bad One_ started beating in my devious mind "Yeah. Now they are."

"That's good—hey, talk to me if anything bothers you, okay?" he offered.

He was so gentle and sweet tonight. It kind of scared me. He wasn't joking as usual.

After an awkward silence, I pointed briefly at his face. "You, um, shaved. Looks nice. Clean."

"Thanks." He smirked, stroking his clean jaw, swinging his jaw sideways. "Just for you, Cel, so when we kiss—"

"You wish, Tony."

"_Hey_, who's the one sitting across from me?" he scoffed.

I leaned toward him deviously. "I dunno, Tony, maybe you're drunk and it's actually a gay guy sitting here."

He gave me a "what?" look, eyes crossed, before he shook his head and shot me a look. "That's . . . nasty."

I drew back into my seat, feeling somewhat impacted by his neglect. He saw my expression, looked at it, and then burst, "Okay, I get it, it was just a joke. Okay."

"Of _course_ I was joking, Tony!" I exclaimed, smiling widely. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't joking. Some other guy would be sitting here."

His response to my joke still bothered me, but we ended up chuckling together. At the same time, our waiter arrived and took our orders.

"You love dumplings?" he queried after I made orders of dumplings.

"I'd push an old lady aside just to be first in line for dumplings," I joked. "I'm very territorial over them, actually, if they were ever placed in front of me."

_"Oh,"_ he said slowly, looking away.

"_You_ like dumplings?" I burst, giving him an "it's _on_" look.

He shook his head quickly but barely that I smirked. He grinned, but something in his eyes—the way he looked at me—made me feel as though he was observing me, as if something was wrong.

". . . You're awfully happy tonight," he finally murmured.

I looked at him, aiming the slice of bread I forked at him. "What? You _want_ me to kick your ass?"

"Um, NAH. It's just, I'm just not used to it."

I sighed, biting out of my piece of bread. "Do you _want_ to have a good night or what?"

"Yeah?—Yeah, YEAH, yeah!" he told himself than to me. He bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah!"

I shook my head as if with disappointment.

"I'm glad to know being with me makes you so giggly," remarked Tony, plucking my slice of bread off right from my fork. I glared at him while he popped it into his mouth with a grin.

"You're asking for it, ya know?"

He looked at me, chewing slowly after what I just said, as if afraid he was bugging me. I didn't know what was wrong with this boy, but I think he was PMSing. Then, Katy Perry's _Hot N Cold_ started teasing my brain. Everything I had been doing lately have been reminding me of so many songs, it was kind of annoying. That was when an image came up of Nahlah and I dancing and laughing together or talking about songs we were listening to. I couldn't help it—it was something we'd definitely be doing right now besides kissing. If I wasn't here, of course.

I snapped out of it as I quickly said, "Tony, this is where you play along by adding more dirty jokes. What's wrong with _you_?"

"Uhhh," he said. "Sorry."

"You don't date much, either, apparently. You really did girl-hop," I commented, baffled.

He went all defensive again. "Hey, hey! You, Virgin Mary, hadn't hopped around guys _enough_! Shall we practice?"

I threw my napkin at him, to which he grinned, blocking it successfully.

"Cellie, we're in public," he mocked me.

"Good. Everyone can witness me murdering you."

"You're butchering the date mood."

We both paused for what could have been a minute or so—trust me, that's _long_. I looked at him, calmly saying, "I guess this is how we . . . get to know each other better?"

I couldn't imagine being with Tony in a time when he wasn't joking or fighting with me. Did women seriously hook up with guys like this? It seemed strange, because in a way, acting like this with him made me perceive him more as a buddy. That was it. But of _course_ I thought like that _now_, seeing that I just "cheated" on him with Nahlah.

_My Dirty Little Secret_ burned my insides as I tried not to grin to myself again. Tony caught it, however, and asked, "What?"

"Nothing."

We left the topic from there, in silence. I didn't know how to start a conversation with him, so that made things awkward. Once in a while he'd make his perverted jokes and I would try to use his napkin against him. Already experiencing this, he knew what to expect and picked up a knife as a joke. I glared at him, raising an eyebrow, before taking a big chunk of bread and slicing it at him.

It bounced off his eye. "Gah! Bread in my eye—why the eye, Cel!?"

I snickered. "You should join the theatre, drama boy. It'll dissolve."

Tony, like I predicted, recovered quickly. He possessed the urge to throw bread in return, maybe even spray some salt and pepper, but then our waiter arrived with our food. When he left, Tony thought it'd be funny to lurch for my dumplings, but I picked up my whole plate and turned, keeping them from his reach.

"Wow, Cel, you're so mature," he bantered.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're the one reaching like a child. Have some manners, Canon."

I could see the scheming in his russet eyes as he obeyed, returning to eating his egg rolls and Pad Thai noodles. He wanted to pretend we were enemies watching our backs as we ate, staring wolfishly up at me—but I ate calmly and coolly with more dignity than that, ignoring him.

I was nearly done when Tony sat back, defeated. "I'm stuffed."

I gave him a look. "You are a pig."

"And you are a pussycat."

"That was degrading, Tony." I rolled my eyes to his rather horny, yet corny jokes. Not that they impacted me rather than irritate me, but my irritation turned to being used to it.

"The best thing about me making dirty jokes," said Tony proudly, "is that it sounds normal to you and the others, but to everyone else, people look at me."

"I don't blame them," I told him flatly, finishing a sip of rice wine.

He gave me a look, sitting comfortably back. "You done?"

"Lemme finish my dumplings."

"What? You still have three left?"

"I was savoring them. I told you my passion for them."

"What would you do if I stole them?"

"I'd throw bread crumbs in your eyes."

"Ahh—no, seriously, Cel, that hurt. It felt like a bug in there."

"Stay away from my dumplings," I snarled.

"You're so protective. It's not my fault you women eat slow," he retorted. Then, he pointed at my dumplings: "Hey, let's see who can snatch them the quickest."

"What the hell, Tony?" I nearly barked. "We're at a formal restaurant. I actually _like_ this food—I don't want them kicking us out for good."

"You can blame it on me," he insisted. Was he serious? "C'mon, Runner. Let's see your speed. Put your dumplings in the middle of the table. If I snatch at least two out of three, I get a kiss. If not, you won't have to deal with me."

"That's a lie," I burst, but keeping my voice low. "I have to deal with you _all_ the time!"

He snorted, grinning. "Exactly!"

"Don't laugh. No, be a real man and make real deals."

"Okay, okay. If you win, you have the right to kick the hell outta me."

"Why would I want to beat you up for no reason?"

"You've always punched me for no good reason."

"Actually, believe me, you've given me plenty of good reasons. Now, make better bets, seriously."

"What? You're actually going for it?"

I shrugged indifferently. "Fine, I'll just eat my dumplings here and now—"

He halted me. "No! C'mon, Cel! You're ruining the fun!"

"_You_ suggested it."

"Fine, here's the deal!" he suggested eagerly, making me pause from finishing the last of my dumplings, which I couldn't resist from eating. "If you win, I pay for your next massage . . ."

_Ooh, that IS a good deal._ I perked my head, intensely into the bet.

"But if I win," he declared, slowly grinning, "you have to _French_-kiss me."

My jaw dropped. _Shoulda seen this coming._

"Deal or no deal!"

Dammit, he made a great deal. Massage with Nahlah, for free, or French-kiss with his vodka-smelling breath?

_Ugh . . ._

"Cellie, I know you love those massages," he tantalized. "You can get them for freeeeee . . ."

"Ugh," I muttered, trying to look calm but my wince betrayed me.

"Hey, c'mon, don't you wanna kiss me anyway? That's what happens after the dates," he claimed.

"Shit."

_It won't be that bad. At least you know Nahlah's a better kisser, not to mention you'll get massages from her!_

I inhaled and held my breath.

_Nahlah, Nahlah, Nahlah._

Then exhaled.

_Once you kiss him and leave, you can see her again._

My hand reached out hesitantly—but he grappled it and shook it violently.

"Deal!" he burst, grinning.

_I hate you._


	23. Innocence II

Chapter 23:

Innocence II

It was 11:30 p.m. when we left _Ocho's_. Tony thoughtfully wrapped his hooded sweater around me—he had decided to wear a casual white sweater that could have been a teenager's, over a black button-up cotton shirt with a black abstract dragon on it; with black, baggy jeans, and black dress shoes. What a kid.

"You're such a kid." I chortled, tugging at his fancy button-up shirt.

We were walking toward the memorial fountain next to where Nahlah's Dipping Dots were. As we walked along that, my heart boomed, urgent to leave so I could see Nahlah.

However, I had lost the bet.

Tony wasn't being pushy, for some reason. I figured he wanted to time it perfectly under romantic circumstances—when the mood was right. How gentleman of him.

Skimming the edge of the fountain, Tony snuck a handful of water and splashed me. In response, I pushed him. For a heavily built guy, he stumbled backwards. He only went halfway in, his hands stopping the rest of his body from falling in. However, it was enough of a splash to get the back of him soaked.

"Hey!" he hollered.

I walked away, grinning.

"Awe, shit—Cel!" he roared behind me. I heard excessive dripping.

He caught up behind me, smearing the wet sleeve of his button-up shirt against my face. I slapped him away, pulling his sweater's hood over my head for protection.

"Bad move," he told me.

Slyly, he grabbed my hood and shoved it down over my eyes. Blinded in the dark, I was defenseless for a split second—just as he swooped me up with his bear arms. "Put me down!" I roared, furious.

He roared, "Haha!" and swung me around. Then, without warning, he planted me against my back on the grassy park. He was _so_ heavy; had me pinned right in the stomach that I thought I was going to throw up dinner.

Grunting, breathless, I gasped, "GET—OFF—TO—NY!"

He loosened his burden on my chest. My hood had fallen out of my eyes the moment I landed. I glared up at him as he grinned back, keeping me pinned down like a dog with its toy.

My vision had been sore and fuzzy since I landed the back of my head against the grass, too. I blinked, looked up at him, and glared.

He looked down at me in the twilight melted with the lamp posts nearby.

"I won," he muttered devilishly.

"Yeah, I know," I grunted, exhaling, agitated.

_Shit, here it comes._ I had to make sure I didn't kiss Nahlah until after the taste of Tony left.

My date looked down at me. I had a hard time seeing his face; it was just a massive shadowy outline looking down at me, seeing that he was eclipsing the lamp light. Then, his breath came slow and heavy, while in the back of my mind I screamed mentally in total rejection.

Surprisingly, he did it gently. I was expecting a fiery, lusting tongue going down my throat, but instead, he did it slow and softly, as if afraid to hurt me. And lifted his head, looking at me, as if wondering how it affected me.

I stared up at him. Definitely nothing like Nahlah's lips.

". . . Okay," I said, "You didn't go for the pounce."

"I just did," he murmured. He looked at me softly.

The silence was awkward. We just stared, until I pulled my eyes off, occupying them with the dragon on Tony's fancy shirt.

"Tony," I stated as monotonously as I could, "Get off. Now."

He got up without a fuss. Sitting up on his knees, he looked down at me, then rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars.

"Thank god it's not cold out," he said, inhaling the night scent.

I looked sideways at him: his arms were cradled under his messy hair. He was staring up at what could have been stars, but were city lights. The city dust reflected off the gray clouds ahead, emitting a cotton-soft glow of faint orange.

I bundled his big sweater around me, covering my bare collarbone and mid-drift.

A few minutes later, Tony said, "Lemme know when you get a massage."

I looked at him. "What? Tony, I _lost_—"

"It's fine," he said. "I got what I want."

Damn. I stared at him, then returned my admiration at the sky.

"Hey, Cel," said Tony, "you look a lot like her."

I turned to him. "Huh?"

"The last girlfriend I had."

I blinked. It felt as though the night air wrapped itself around my heart—because I already felt a story coming up.

"Her name was Odette LaKasse," he told me, smiling to himself. "She was from Paris—your typical beautiful blonde, blue-eyed woman. A lot like you: stubborn, haughty, always insulted with me, but still kind. But then she got killed in a car accident."

People had their ways of just blurting the saddest parts of their lives like it was nothing. I stared at him; he remained distracted by the sky, as if she was up in there in the stars he barely saw, but knew were there.

"When was this . . .?" I whispered, afraid to break the gentle tone in his voice.

"A year ago."

". . . I'm sorry, Tony."

"Don't be," he said forcefully. He turned to me. "You know that old, old, old song _Blessed By a Broken Road_? Some Western song. There are these lyrics that say, 'Every long lost dream led me to where you are. Others who broke my heart—they were like northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms. This much I know is true. That God bless the broken road that led me straight to you'. That's what Odette was like: she led me to you."

I stared, silent for at least a minute, with Tony staring at me the whole time. Then, his eyes receded to the darkness.

My heart froze, either touched to the point it hurt because I just cheated on him, or because I knew I couldn't feel for him like I did for Nahlah.

I turned to him sympathetically. "Tony, I'm really, _really_ sorry. About Odette."

Tony smiled. He shifted onto his side, leaned forward, and kissed me quickly but gently, then withdrew. "I'm sorry I didn't meet you sooner."

_Dammit_. What did I say to that? What does one honestly do when pick-up, corny, yet heart-tearing lines are said to them like that—_especially_ when you didn't like the other guy?

Before I could speak—not that I could, I was left speechless, thinking over his story and his words and his smile—Tony sat up. "Well, it's late. I'm tired, and I'm sure you are. Let's take you home. Where to?"

I slapped on a fake smile as I accepted his hand. "You know, to be honest, when I first met you, I thought you were such a jackass. Even after we became official comrades."

"I know," he said, chuckling. We stood side-by-side. "After all, I zapped you."

"No, but even after that. You were so annoying, so serious, too."

"It's my job, being serious about Project Icarus—but also to be annoying."

I punched his arm as we both grinned.

"So," he said, starting to walk. "Where shall I take you, Cel?"

"Ya know, it's fine," I said, waving his offer away. "You paid for dinner and waited for me. I'll take a taxi, it's the least I can do to save you the drive."

"Awe, Cellie," he cooed, nuzzling against my cheek jokingly, to which I pushed him gently away. "But you're my date!"

There was the annoying, complaining, joking Tony again.

This satisfied me. I smiled, shook my head at him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "No, but thank you, Tony."

_"So . . .?"_ began Tony. I looked at him, raising an eyebrow patiently. "Is this the part when we go to my place and have sex?"

I pushed him in the chest, then turned and walked away, shaking my head with a hidden grin.

"You almost had me, Tony, until you said that," I mocked over my shoulders at him.

"Cel, careful around here," he called after me, "there are rapists around a dangerous city like this."

"Yeah, which is why I'm walking away from you."

I heard his faint response. "Ouch—I think I felt that one."

I walked several yards away, finding myself grinning uncontrollably, when Tony finally shouted, "Seriously, Cel, be careful. It's not rapists I'm concerned about, it's those Runners."

"I _am_ a Runner," I said, turning around to sneer at him. "What do you say to _that_?"

He shrugged, grinning. "Then, _damn_, nice running legs you got there."

I snorted. Then, I exclaimed, "Oh, shoot, I forgot—here's your sweater—"

"Keep it," he said. "I'm cool."

I frowned. "Seriously, Tony—take it back, what use do I have of it? It's too big."

"I dunno, sleep on it, think of me," he suggested with a shrug.

"Here we go," I said, rolling my eyes. I turned. "See ya at work—Oh, did you ever call Pep—they might wanna know what happened to me."

"I'll do that."

"Thanks, Tony. See ya."

"Good night, Cel. Take care."

--

It was midnight when I knocked on Nahlah's door. Again.

She opened it, throwing her arms around me, crushing her lips gently against mine. I held her, kissing her back: long, soft, melty, and sweet.

Afterward, I perked my head up with a startled expression. ". . . Why does that sound familiar . . .?"

Nahlah blushed. "Yeah. I've been listening to _Flightless Bird, American Mouth_ ever since you left. I couldn't help it—I've been waiting for you, Celeste."

Her words shot through my heart. I surrendered as I attacked her with another brief kiss.

She parted from me afterwards, smiling. "_So_, how was Tony?"

I paused before nodding at the thought. "Yeah, yeah, it was good, I guess."

My words threw her off, as if she heard hesitation. Nahlah's face slowly dissolved into a curious expression. ". . . What happened?"

That was the last expression I wanted to receive from her. Instead of answering, I grabbed her hands and held them while kissing her—slow, yet strong, hoping she got the message. When I broke our kiss, her breath was shuddering as she searched my eyes with curious love.

"Don't worry," I told her firmly, holding her cheek. I locked our foreheads together, smiling into her eyes. "It was you I kept on my mind as I had to endure kissing him."

She stared up at me. ". . . And how did that feel?"

I paused, looking back. Tony did it so softly and gently, I felt bad for the guy. Either he was a perverted mastermind, or that slow, realistic kiss was genuine. My silent consideration, however, made Nahlah nervous, whose eyes darted everywhere on my face to observe my expression.

I looked down at her, however, smiling. "Empty."

She looked at me hard, eyes dissecting my facial expression. ". . . Really?"

"Yeah. Because they weren't yours." I smiled, kissing her forehead. "And by the way, it smelled of vodka. I had some gum so you didn't have to taste that."

She laughed, then smacked her lips. "So far, I haven't tasted anything."

"Good. You shoulda been there. We were throwing bread at each other—and then he made this annoying bet. Whoever could snatch the dumpling from the center of the table either got a French-kiss or free massage."

"You _accepted_ the bet?" she demanded, surprised.

"Well," I admitted, smiling weakly, "he offered to pay for my next massage if I won. That was being able to see you and get a massage without having go to sneak to your house and raise suspicion. I can't help but admit I'm stubborn and competitive."

"And he had you _French_-kiss him?"

I made a face. "Actually, no. Even though he won, he didn't French-kiss me."

Nahlah looked at me as I smiled with relief. Then, she murmured, "He really does love you."

I frowned, sympathetic at the wake-up call. "Yeahhh . . . that's gonna be a problem, isn't it?"

"Yup." Nahlah sighed, holding me by the waist. "Cuz now I got competition."

"Nah, not by a long shot," I convinced her after chuckling to her disappointment. "Because you _have_ me. Na-Na."

She blinked, gaping at me. "Did you just call me Na-Na?"

I stared. "Does that bother you?"

She gave a weak, apologetic smile. "Farid—the guy from _KK's Klub_—has some problem pronouncing my name. Instead of 'Nahlah', he says 'Na-Na'—apparently can't stress the L."

I laughed at the whole idea. "It's a cute nickname, anyway."

"Oh please, no pet names."

"You called me Ms. Celeste, though."

"That was brief, and you know why I had to. You were my client back then," she stated, lips lingering on mine.

"I am definitely _now_ your client," I joked. She slapped me in the shoulder playfully, surprised that I just used something Tony would have said.

Smiling it aside, Nahlah said, "So, about that massage . . ."

I looked at her. "Huh?"

"Pervert offered he'd pay for your next massage," explained Nahlah. "You could have turned down that bet and not have vodka on your tongue—because you have me. I'm all yours. I'll give you a massage any time, free of charge."

"So what about now?" I blurted.

Nahlah gave me a reading expression before she kissed me. "Should I leave the room so you can change, miss?" she whispered teasingly.

"Actually, I need help."

Nahlah's eyes widened. "Wow, and I thought Tony was something—"

Instantly, I aimed for her mouth, catching her in a kiss. At the same time, she aimed for my shirt. Both our hands were tangled with each other and over my strapless shirt as we tried to rip it off. Next, as I got carried away with kissing her, she busied her fingers at the back of my strapless bra, undoing it. A warm chill shook through me as I felt the air flood over my bare skin; my bra fell lifelessly. Her hand brushed my bare back, feeling my back muscles tensing and rolling at my arm movements as I clung to her passionately. Our lips never left each other.

--

I awoke at 10:00 in the morning. _Mr. Blue Sky_ was playing softly in the living room. I lay across Nahlah's bed sheets on my stomach; I remained there, fluttering my eyes open, adjusting them to the morning glow. Gold filtered the small bedroom, caressing me into a drowsy state as my thoughts dragged me back to last night's massage.

I forgot I was shirtless for a second, because a finger suddenly combed down my bare back; I didn't remember hearing Nahlah coming in, or had she been next to me the whole time?

I gave a satisfied "hm" in response.

"Morning, Celeste."

"Hey." I smiled, eyes closed.

"Ready for your morning massage? They're free, too. Every morning." I had no need to answer. She went right to work, fingers pressing leisurely into the smooth valley between my shoulders.

Just as I was getting comfortable in the passionate silence, I felt lips on my bare skin five minutes later. They were soft, feather-like, and loving. My heart basically went through a seizure as my back tensed at the touch. Then, Nahlah brushed them lightly down my back until she could go no further, unless I permitted her.

I didn't mind. I was still wearing my panties, and so was Nahlah. Last night we had gotten carried away, ending up sleeping in each other's arms, shirtless. But that was as far as we went, until she was ready, but I wasn't sure if _that's_ what she was waiting for.

For a second, she made me think she was going to go further. Suddenly, Nahlah stopped.

A whisper broke into my ear: "I gotta go to work. You should get going, too."

Of course she didn't go any further. Who makes love in the _morning_?

I didn't answer. I suddenly became aware of how I shuddered as if cold after realizing her bare chest was pressed against my back. However, she was warm, so I lingered in this moment where I felt connected, even though we could connect more than this.

I finally groaned wearily. "Who gives a shit."

"You said work was gonna be busy and rough for you," said Nahlah, kissing my neck gently. "Your boss will fire you."

"Let her. Then I won't ever have to leave." I sat up, supported by my elbows. Nahlah lay next to me. I bent my head over and kissed her. "What? You want me to leave?"

"You are _tempting_," she confessed, staring into my eyes. She smiled thoughtfully, stroking loose bed hair. "You have no idea how much you leave me wanting more every time we kiss."

I beamed goofily at her. "Well. How about—hopefully if work doesn't take too long—we go do something?"

"Like what?" she said, kicking her legs innocently. Our feet started banging rascally against each other as we tried to plan our day.

I shrugged. "We'll make up things as we go along. We're good at that."

"Yeah, you," she said, smiling, "always appearing at my doorstep when I least expect it. Hooker."

I threw a pillow at her. "Be thankful I was a hot hooker. If I were a guy, what would you have done?"

"Actually," joked Nahlah, thinking, "I'd probably call for Tony. He is, after all, protective of his lesbian chicks."

"Not that he knows," I added.

We both exchanged nervous looks over the thought before smiling carelessly. After a while when one would think we had enough of each other, we kissed slowly but shortly again.

"Hey?" interrupted Nahlah, breaking from me. "What was that back there about you telling me you weren't into chicks?"

_"You're . . . bisexual?"_ Awe, the memory that questioned my love interests, my whole existence. I smiled at the silly thought that once made me shake in confusion and shame. Now, I was proud of it. I let it swell my heart even if it hurt.

"I never really answered you," I retorted with a smirk. "Because I fainted, remember?"

"Well, then, there was that other time when you told me, 'I'm not _dot, dot, dot',_" reminded Nahlah, frowning at what I'm sure was an unbearable misinterpretation for her.

I examined her eyes. "Yeah—_but_ I never said I was into guys, either. I'm not bisexual, I'm . . ."

"A lesbian?"

"No. I'm Nahlah-bian—oh forget it."

Nahlah burst out laughing, pulling my face in to kiss it fondly. "But then you go and kiss Tony, though," she said, faking a comprehending nod, raising her eyebrows.

"The bet, remember?"

"Sure, sure."

I looked at her, then stroke her face. "Hey . . . I mean it."

I rubbed her arm affectionately, while holding her eyes with my own, along with a loving smile.

Nahlah was quiet for a moment, which had me hanging in silent confusion. I looked at her, wondering what she was thinking about.

She finally whispered, "I seriously thought . . . we wouldn't ever . . ."

I waited for her to finish patiently.

Nahlah exhaled. "Seeing you and Tony—you trying so hard to keep us a secret. At first I thought it was out of . . . shame and humiliation."

She was half-right. I didn't want anyone knowing about us and our internal affair, but I especially and specifically didn't want anyone knowing about her—period. Being a Black Neck was just as dangerous. Runners, I knew, though kinder than the CPF, would still do whatever it took to get the information they needed. They weren't afraid to pick up a gun and threaten clients and family likewise to win.

Nahlah was looking at me the entire time. Then, she leaned sideways, held my head in her hands, and kissed my hair. "C'mon, that was in the past. Let's have something to eat, and head for work."

I smiled at her and followed her reluctantly, covering my shirtless torso with Tony's sweater. She slipped on a random tanktop; we walked toward the kitchen in our panties, still. As we got out breakfast, Nahlah stole a glance at my rather masculine-looking sweater.

"That sweater's big on you," she stated. She stared. "Is that even yours?"

"It's Tony's," I answered casually. "He wouldn't let me give it back. It was cold last night and I was wearing that skimpy red shirt you hate so much," I finished jokingly.

Now that she brought up Tony's sweater, I told myself to especially not mention the more kisses that followed. It's not that I was cheating on her, I just didn't want her to feel hurt and betrayed—that was the last thing I wanted. She was, after all, the sole reason I joined Project Icarus.

Nahlah was silent as she swathed butter on our toast while I was pouring milk.

I turned, sensing the hurt jealousy. Slowly and reassuringly, I embraced her from behind, inhaling her scent.

"You're not the jealous type, are you?" I teased.

Nahlah's hand found my face as she stroke it. "Maybe," she said; I sensed a weak smile in her tone, as if she was ashamed in herself.

"Don't be," I said strictly, frowning. "That's the last thing I want you feeling."

"Jealousy, they say," she murmured aloud, "is more like the fear of abandonment."

"I'll never leave you. Why do you think I'm here?" I kissed her neck, then squeezed her closer.

It was quiet for a quick minute before she smiled. "Cel, I'm trying to make us breakfast."

"Hurry up, then, I'm starving!"

We quickly ate, throwing our breakfast at each other while listening to Lily Allen's _LDN_.

Then, I brought up a question that has irked me for a bit since our lunch with Pepper and Tony: "Why'd you push me away?"

"Huh?" Nahlah peeked from sipping her milk.

I stared at her. "You . . . remember, at lunch with Tony and Pepper and the kids? You tried to push me away."

Nahlah saw the freckle of sadness in my eyes, though I felt my face stone and my tone harmlessly soft. She stared back at me, just as sad at the memory that was only from yesterday.

"You were afraid of me, of _us_, and of yourself," she murmured. "I was afraid of you just because of that. You had this self-destructive behavior going on. I was afraid you'd hurt yourself—emotionally, that is—as you were bouncing between Tony and I. I didn't want to deal with that, seeing that I was losing to Tony. Well . . . I thought I was."

I looked at her hard. "I was just as confused as you."

"Yeah," she agreed, "but I _knew_ whom I loved. _You_ had to decide, and I had to give you that room. Sending you off to Tony sounded smart, at first, because then, if you kissed, you would know where to go. I knew that would risk my chances of being with you, though—that's why it hurt."

We sat in silence, not of passion but hurt and shame. My heart ached, rolled, groaned at reliving the emotions. Yesterday was a mess: from Runner, to Project Icarus, to "hooker" on the streets confused, to this. I could see why Nahlah tried to avoid me; I was stumbling blindly, knocking everyone in my path.

"I thought," said Nahlah finally, looking at her plate, "that if I left you by yourself before we grew too close, neither of us would seriously get hurt. But you noticed that absence, and how painful it was." She smiled, as if relieved, but still hurt by my emotions from yesterday. "It was so confusing, it hurt."

I nodded, looking down. I hated myself already just thinking about it. We Runners always made it complicated, living such complex, solitary flights above everyone who knew how to socialize and love.

We finished breakfast in silence. The edgy feeling of our conversation slowly lifted, and we began to hold each other's gaze and image lovingly.

_Who I Am Hates Who I've Been_ came on Nahlah's shuffle.

"Hey, can I borrow some clothes?" I asked her timidly.

"As much as you want. What would you like?"

"Anything, really."

"Does that include lingerie?"

I stared at her, while she snuck a smirk. "No more Tony," I instructed sternly.

Before slipping out the door, we turned to each other, kissed long enough for one to drown from holding their breath, and then held each other.

"I'll be back tonight," I promised her, holding her around the waist.

"I'll wait." She hugged me, and I held her close.

We gave our last kiss, said good-bye, and parted for work.


	24. Two Princes

Chapter 24:

_Two Princes_

As I entered downtown, trying to figure out how to explain myself to Loraine since I was supposed to be heavy on duty today, a bicycler nearly hit me. The rider tipped sideways, hopped off, and awkwardly stumbled onto his side, bicycle harmlessly toppling on top of him.

"SHIT!"

I threw a look. "Ari?"

Even though I shopped at New Eden Mall last night with Pepper, all of that seemed so far away; I hadn't seen Ari at the _Fye_ store since my first get-together plans with Nahlah.

She stared cluelessly at me. "OHMYGOD, Celeste, I'm _so_ sorry about that!"

I helped her up, and watched her as she rearranged her hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants. What a tomboy. No wonder I first thought she was a "he".

"I didn't recognize you from behind," she told me, beaming at me.

I folded my arms. "Me either. I thought you were a guy—never mind that, you don't, now that I think about it. Hair's short, but too pretty to belong to a guy's."

"Try tousled hair," said Ari, chuckling. "So, hey, I haven't seen you, like, forever?"

She held up her bike while I explained, "Yeah. Work. Ya know the story."

"Right."

I snapped my fingers. "Actually, I'm pretty glad I bumped into you. Got any new CD hits to recommend me?"

Ari stuffed her hands casually into her sweater pockets, humming thoughtfully. "Uhhh—yeah! You like Abby Payne, right? _Fye_ finally got her new album, though it's probably a bit old now."

"Nice," I said, nodding with a smile. "Hey, where you heading?"

"Hitting _Kenny's_ for some brunch. Sorry, you wanted to go to _Fye_, didn't you? It's my day off; store's closed."

"Yeahh, but no, that's fine. I'll stop by, later." I waved her away, smiling.

"Ok. Sure, see ya." She nodded, and hopped awkwardly back onto her bike, seeing it was a bit too high for her. I watched with silent glee as she crookedly rode away, calling good-bye over her shoulders.

Damn, I was considering getting Nahlah new albums, especially Abby Payne's, whose music was the exact mood I was in ever since last night.

It was hard to believe all of that happened last night—from Tony asking me out, to Nahlah rejecting me and going along with Tony, kissing Nahlah, kissing Tony, now back to Nahlah, and now Project Icarus again.

With Project Icarus in thought, I reluctantly struggled to figure out where to find the other Black Necks. They could have been either at the Shard, the previous PK headquarters, or who else knows where. Now I kind of regretted tossing the earpiece Pepper gave me, but then again that was to keep them from tracking me all the way to Nahlah's.

As I randomly looked into some stores I passed by, a hand suddenly grabbed me from an alley I passed. I was thrown deeper into sudden darkness.

Against a brick wall, a strike of pain smacked me at the side of my head. My world went darker and dizzy as I tried to maintain conscious. Next, a foot beat me in the stomach. It didn't take long for me to realize more than one person was doing this.

"You piece of SHIT!"

The back of someone's hand smacked me across the face.

I glared up, wincing at the stinging, lingering pain. I could only make out dark silhouettes. However, splits of light exposed what appeared to be two females and a male.

_Pepper? Reagan—TONY?_

Two thick hands grappled me by the collar of my shirt and thrust me against the wall. I felt myself feel strangely light as my feet dangled several inches from the cement ground.

I looked down, grunting in pain. Then, paused. "Aspin? Rosette—Reed?"

Former Runner comrades.

The dark-haired Aspin tightened his grip, ramming me against the brick again. Pain broke through me from the back to my front, stinging silently yet mercilessly. I let out a gasp of shock and agony.

"You blonde bitch," he growled huskily.

"Spinner," I gasped barely.

"You're not allowed to say my _nickname_ anymore!" roared Aspin, ramming me again against the brick wall. _Dammit, my head and bones._

"TRAITOR!" Rosette, the blonde with the feathery, spike-like bangs sticking out from her forehead like drooping grass, came up to me and slapped me again. Only for old time's sake, though—nothing compared to Aspin's infamous temper.

The other punk-ass black female, Reed, demanded, "That's enough, guys. We beat her far enough. Let's grab her before people hear us—"

"Why not just _kill_ her?" growled Aspin, veins throbbing in his thick neck.

"It's too late, Spinner, there's no point," argued Reed quietly. "She's already betrayed the Runners, already spilled our techniques and our messages to Project Icarus. Killing her will only anger them."

"Wouldn't I just _love_ that!" emphasized Aspin as he rammed me for the umpteenth time.

"Enough—" burst Reed, when suddenly, she cried out in pain.

"REED?" panicked Rosette.

Then, Rosette spun around, in time to defend from a blow. I heard grunts of effort as a fray ensued. However, that didn't last long when I saw her body vibrate and jerk violently, the light from the street behind her highlighting her silhouette; I recognized that faint zapping.

Tasers.

"CELESTE!"

I dropped to the ground the moment someone took out Aspin from behind. Burly, black-clad arms curled around his neck and tightened, hugging against his throat. The Runner let out a heart-curling choke. Then, he was knocked out.

I saw the blue sirens through my blurry vision. I couldn't believe I could have been dead there, within seconds, and no one would know until they found my body in this remote area.

Flashlights stabbed my eyes. The voices of authority swarmed over; I heard Reed and Rosette's grunts of rebel and pain as Blues escorted them out of the alley. Aspin was tasered multiple times before handcuffed and pushed against a convoy that waited outside of the alley.

"Celeste, Celeste!" Someone kneeled next to me, helping me up.

"Is she okay?"

"Damn, those Runners—"

"Pep—Tony . . .?" I moaned, eyes half shut as I tried to regain balance and vision. Tony's heavy familiar breathing was right next to my ear as he tried to scoop me up—"No, put me down!"

"Cel, you just got _beat_—" resisted Tony, trying to calmly put down my flurry of blind hands.

"I'm fine, Tony—_shit_, Tony, put me down!" I growled, grunting in pain again.

Instantly but delicately the Black Neck slid me down back onto my feet. Next, as I tried to stand up, a gentler hand was on my back.

Pepper's voice demanded softly, "Are you okay, Cel?"

The pain gradually subsided; I looked up, instantly blinded again by the flashlights two Blues were pointing.

"Let's get her outta here—" began Pepper, but I grabbed her wrist.

"I'm not going out there—"

"What's wrong with you? C'mon," she urged, pulling me but pushing me gently.

"No, Pepper," I snapped, jerking my arm back. I glared at the Blues. "Get those lights outta my face—"

So many voices were arguing against me that it gave me a headache. In the midst of my weak yet frustrated voice wrestling with theirs, a new younger voice broke out.

Next, Reagan shoved me gently. "Where the _hell_ were you!? Loraine's PISSED!"

"Hey—HEY, _bitch_, she just got _beat_—!" Tony threw Reagan's hands off me, holding her off with his massive body, glaring.

Pepper yelled at them, "Guys!"

Before I could have a say, I heard Loraine approaching us. "Vanity!" Next thing I knew, her face was in mine. "Where'd you go last night—what happened to that earpiece Pep gave you—what the hell were you _thinking_—?"

"Boss, boss," interrupted Tony, "It's my fault. I let her grab a taxi and leave off like that. I thought she'd be heading for Ray's or Pep's—"

"I don't fucking care if you two just got _married_!" roared Loraine stringently, turning on him fiercely. "What were you thinking, Canon!"

Reagan, face just as contorted with fury, turned from Loraine to me. A firm hand was on her hip. "Dammit, Post. When you didn't arrive this morning at the Shard, you have no idea the frenzy you cooked up. We sent Blues everywhere—why'd you toss your earpiece, what were you _doing_?"

"Gimme a reason why I would do that," I finally managed to mutter, grunting at the pain in the back of my head.

Tony gestured toward me furiously, still confronted by the boss. "_Look_ at her, Raine! She's messed up—!"

"We had no idea where you were," pressed Reagan, "until a Blue got a call from nearby witnesses who saw you get pulled into alley—!"

"What's going on, Cel?" added Pepper, voice still calm, but eyes betraying that quality. "Before the witness' call, our city cameras caught sight of you walking downtown. What were you doing? You knew you were on heavy duty today—"

"Cel, you okay?" burst Tony, booming voice slightly calmer. He stared over Loraine's shoulders who was still standing in his way, glaring him down as if it was all his fault.

Despite the throb and heavy ache on my brain, the words burst out: "I was taking down those Runners . . ."

There was a slight pause before Loraine turned around, folded her arms, and eyed me. "By yourself? In casual civilian clothes?"

I took a glimpse down at Nahlah's white tank-top she lent that went with my own blue jeans from my date with Tony. "I _was_ coming to work. But then I saw the Runners."

A sudden throbbing pain in my arm stole a gasp from me, but I quickly shut my mouth.

"Can we get her a _medic_, please?" barked Tony.

"I have one coming, calm down," said Loraine, voice back to its average tone. She was looking at me. "Cel, you could have called us first."

"I tossed the earpiece, remember?" I grunted.

"Why the _hell_ you thought doing so, I don't know," grumbled Reagan, crossing her arms incandescently. "Wanna explain?"

"You know me, I want my privacy." I gripped my arm painfully. By then, a medic appeared and checked my condition while the Black Necks stared at me or exchanged glances or whispers. For once, I was grateful that Tony was on my side; he snuck concerned, yet curious glances.

After the medic left, reporting only bruised bones and cautioning a concussion, I stood up. Loraine allowed Tony and Pepper to support me, but I jerked away in cold silence, feeling cornered.

"Even you, a former Runner, would have known not to take down more than one Runner," expressed Loraine, pacing, eyes remained on me. "They could have easily outrun you—but since they once personally or professionally knew you, they decided to take their revenge. And we told you how dangerous that was. Don't toss your earpiece anymore, or I'll have to keep a Black Neck with you at all times. This is for your safety, Cel."

"Oh really?" I murmured, looking up at her after a long time.

Loraine looked at me, and folded her arms. Shaking her head, confused, she asked, "What are you doing, Celeste? What's going on? You've been only on real duty for one day and that already sent you in turmoil. Does Project Icarus affect you that much? Have you been ditching us for your massages, getting paid though you're not doing the work—?"

"I located _three_ Runners and this is my thanks?" I sighed, glaring at the ground.

All that tugged my mind was that I needed to get out of this talk.

Loraine's eyebrows sloped, thick with irritation. "Celeste, did you hear me? It's not about you, it's about the city."

"Look what you're doing to this city," I snapped in a hushed tone. "Riots, protests, Runners getting caught or killed—Blues who someday might turn against their own families—or each other's families. No one likes what you think is for the good."

"Even _you_, apparently," inquired Reagan. "We know you'd be like this, Post, but don't get carried away—"

"Either you're with Project Icaurs, or we trash you," finished Loraine.

"Look," I argued. I didn't want it to be like this. All I asked for was Nahlah. "I'll do your stupid chases and city duty. Just gimme my free time. Don't ask where I've been—"

"We're not _stupid_, Cel!" Reagan approached me, trying to restrain from punching. "Whatever you're doing on your 'free time', it's so important to you to remain secret that it's _something_. What's the deal, Post?"

We remained scowling at each other until finally I muttered ominously, "Get _out_ of my face."

Reagan looked at me, face melting into a defeated, exasperated expression. This surprised me. She pulled back, brushed the hair from her face, and glared at me thoughtfully before turning to Loraine.

"She's doing all we ask," said Pepper calmly to Loraine. "She's willing to serve Project Icarus. Let her do what she wants, whatever that is."

"I don't like whatever you've been doing, Celeste," said Loraine, glaring from Pepper to me. "Whatever it is, I'm keeping a close look. We got cameras, Cel. And Blues, and Black Necks. Watch your step."

"You don't even know what I'm doing," I argued slyly yet cautiously.

"Then _tell_ us."

I rolled my eyes and glared away, trying to restrain my wincing expression at a pain throbbing in my head.

Loraine looked at me a long time for what could have been two minutes. "I like you Cel, as a person. Don't change my mind. If you make a move in which I suspect treason against this city's authority, we will arrest you."

I tried to hide a smirk. "Don't worry, I'm not."

My tone caught everyone off guard. The Black Necks studied my expression and thought over my tone in correspondence to my promise. Reagan shook her head as if this was unbelievable, while the rest stared at me, either with worry, suspicion, wonder, or confusion.

Loraine bobbed her head toward Pepper. "Continue the procedure. I want to get as many Runners down as possible."

Pepper nodded faintly, before turning to me with a curious look. "Those Runners—who were they?"

"Why?"

"It's important to know. Just answer, Cel. You're making this harder as it is."

I thought back to the word "traitor" stamped on my forehead when Aspin rammed me and cursed me; at my old somewhat friends Rosette and Reed. They weren't that close to me, but for some reason, their words bothered me. Maybe it was their relentless threats and anger implanted against the back of my aching head.

"Cel?"

"Aspin Cook, Onyinye Reed, and Rosette Marriah," I answered quickly, to get it over and done with. "They were employed by Drake and another Tracker by the name of Winter. He's a manager at _Edgewise Shop_. Find him, and you'll find more Runners."

Loraine blinked before smiling gently for the first time today. "Thanks, Cel." She sighed, looking at me as if asking "what am I going to do with you?"

"We gotta get going," urged Reagan quietly. "In the past hour two more Runners have been spotted."

Without another word, she turned sharply and left. I saw two more Black Necks awaiting us. Wanting to escape Loraine, I followed Reagan quietly.

"Celeste," called Loraine. I stopped, but didn't turn around. "I want you to join Reagan. Get those Runners. But get used to this. This day's gonna be long. I'll let you know when you're off—but no more special treatment."

"Sure." I was about to walk, but Tony caught up.

"Heyyy, Cel," he asked in a low, cautious voice, "is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Tony—"

"You should go with your girlfriend," prompted Loraine, who walked past us with Pepper. "Keep an eye on her, Tony, not that we need to ask you."

That was a dark joke. None of us hinted a hidden sarcastic smirk. Things have gotten serious.

Tony looked from Loraine to me, then nodded, all business. He jogged up to catch up with Reagan, who was barking orders at nearby Blues and patrol cops. Before I joined him, Pepper stopped me by taking my arm.

"Hey, go put these on," she said, presenting black PK attire like hers. "With the Runners on the look out for you, I'm sure the Connors told them you wore white. You're like the rest of us, but keep it low. Hop in the truck and change. And don't worry—no one saw that this all happened. Cameras are switched off in this district while the perimeters are heavily guarded by secret Black Necks in case Runners were around."

I took the garments, looked at her with a secret thanks in my eyes, and went to change.

--

Now that everything calmed down, I could relax. I also made a mental note to myself to never walk near dark alleys, even in the day time, even in public downtown. This city wasn't safe anymore. When you think it's thriving toward peace, that only provokes reform. Everything is worse.

Reagan, Tony, and I were standing on top of a tenant building, simply awaiting for any Runner alerts. It was rather quiet between the three of us. The sunny day, however, lightened the mood slightly, which inspired music in me.

I pulled out my iPod, plugging one earpiece in.

"CEL," began Reagan, glaring. "Take those out."'

I ignored her, thinking of Spin Doctor's song, _Two Princes_—which was exactly what this city was like. It was the normal city and Project Icarus fighting over me like princes. Not the best analogy if you wanted to call it that, but it was enough.

"Cel," continued Reagan, putting fists on her hips.

"Celeste, put away the music," barked Tony softly, just to placate Ray.

_And I thought Project Icarus would be relaxing._ I guess the massages were just the bait, another of those stupid lying advertisements. And it worked. Giving me my first professional massage led me to Nahlah, the real bait, and Project Icarus didn't even know it. They didn't know Nahlah was my reason for switching.

Project Icarus had the weapons, the massive reinforcements of security, and the high-speed network of personnel intelligence that could protect Nahlah from threat. I joined Project Icarus to protect Nahlah from the weaker people, the Runners. If I had remained with the Runners, I would have never received my massages from her again nor would she be safe; Project Icarus would be the worse threat against her safety.

I saw Tony coming over. Even though we were "dating", I knew he took his job seriously. So, I rolled my eyes and silently put my iPod away before he reached me. He stopped in front of me, staring at me in frustration but wonder.

"So . . . is everything okay?" he asked after shortly studying me.

I kept my attention on the blue sky.

"Yeah."

Tony scratched his scalp. "I don't get it, Cel, why did you not go to Pep and Ray's like I thought you would? You could have stayed with them or . . . me . . . but—"

"You _thought_, and I never _implied_," I retorted calmly. I looked at him, a gentler tone in my dark blue eyes. "Sorry for worrying you."

"Hell yeah," he agreed evenly, "we just dated, you'd think I'd shrug you off? That wasn't a girl-hopping date, Cel."

"Wow, _bold_," declared Reagan, impressed. She was staring at us a few feet from her place on the Edge, overlooking the city.

I hated when people stared. You'd figure out by then why I preferred the solitary Edge.

"Shuddap, Ray," growled Tony, nearly like a dog.

Before Reagan could continue, Loraine homed in on our earpieces. "PK units! North side, Dobra Street. We got a Runner."

"Just one?" said Reagan, slipping her protective mask on.

Tony pulled out his taser gun, ready. "Copy that." He turned to me, face suddenly unknown through those eye holes. "Ready, Cel?"

Looking at them wordlessly, I dipped my head, slipped my mask on, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Hey, and make sure Celeste doesn't go after any Runners by herself," cleared Loraine sternly. "We can't afford traps, ambushes, whatever Runners can pull off. Okay, now get going! We got some PK units sweeping the south side. C'mon, it's a beautiful day, Black Necks!"

I couldn't believe they took this adventurously.

I blocked my thoughts coldly aside and followed my comrades closely.

--

I dunno what Faith told the Runners about Project Icarus, but she really spiked the alert. The Runners were stealthier than ever, but still not fast enough to escape Project Icarus' eyes. Our cameras, our heavy security, and the fact that me as the ex-Runner training the Black Necks, really helped achieve the goal of Project Icarus. And with a dispatch of more than three Black Necks, it was easy to take them down. I was glad I wasn't a Runner anymore; just watching myself take them down was a scary thought. It all seemed too easy for a Black Neck.

The Runner we took down was another short-haired blonde, who knew a friend who knew Rosette. I've heard of Brittany Portal now and then in our lines of work, especially her ability to really run. However, she had me chasing her.

A few bolts of electricity, melee attacks, and chases were simple and enough to bring Brittany down nevertheless. It was Reagan, who was quite the runner, who caught up with her, brought her down, while Tony delivered the tasers and I finished her with melee attacks when she tried to resist—not that she could much. Tony took care of that, just like when he'd taken care of me.

After that pursuit, Loraine buzzed: "I think this guy could be a Runner. Check him out."

And we did. He was. When our stupid police cars swarmed him, he bolted. With his upper body strength, Tony vaulted an electrical wire fence to pursue more than I could have pulled off. He caught up with the Runner and tasered him. Reagan collided with the two boys from the opposite direction off a neighboring roof while I was on close on Tony's trail. These Runners knew how to fight back despite the paralysis efforts, so Ray and I struggled to help Tony put the Runner to silence.

It was Pepper this time who informed us of three more Runners. "They realized the rooftops are dangerous considering the number of Black Necks against them, so they've been trying to blend with the crowd. I've identified an Asian male, 5'8", dark blue shirt, short black hair; with another white male of 6 feet, with shades, yellow shirt, black pants, marine-cut hair. Sam Breffort and Jeffrey McGraw. The last we cannot identify. We're zooming in."

"Dammit, that's way too much data," complained Tony, who grunted at impact after jumping off the roof onto another ledge. We joined him. "Okay, should we split up?"

"NO, we'll send more Black Necks," insisted Pepper. "Focus on one Runner at a time, guys."

Without a word, we took pursuit, which became more complicated than we anticipated. Unlike most of our pursuits, the Runners didn't try to outrun us. Instead, they tried to blend in with the crowd, then sneaking into buildings. What else could they do with Black Necks and copters chasing them in open air?

"Shoot. I'll send the SWAT inside to scope the building out," said Pepper. "Once the SWAT drives them out, you take pursuit. Just sit and wait."

I knew it was a matter of five to ten minutes that the Runners would find a sneaky escape route. They were fast; they were Runners. They knew the city, inside, and out. I saw the white male, Jeffrey McGraw, dash his way out a door he practically barged down. Reagan and I took pursuit while Tony joined the others to pursue Sam Breffort.

Ten minutes later we reunited, surrounding the last Runner after taking Breffort and McGraw down.

The last Runner was a teenage boy. Nineteen years old.

"Wow, they're getting desperate," murmured Tony as we watched the Blues arrest the boy.

I didn't allow myself to voice my opinions. Saying anything would choke me up or make my comrades bother at me in frustration, so I continued to take orders all day long. The sun was balmy and bright throughout all missions, not a cloud in sight, the city clean and white and beautiful. It began to scare me.


	25. All the Time in the World

Chapter 25:

All the Time In the World

"Call it a day," said Loraine into our comms. "It's 7:00."

"Hell yeah," said Tony, exhaling in exaggeration. "God, I'm tired."

"Make your way back to HQ," prompted our boss. "Callaghan is here."

"What's this, a promotion?"

"Just get going, Tony." Loraine hung up, leaving the line wiry and fuzzy.

When we arrived at PK headquarters around 7:30, we waited for the elevator to reach the top. Inside, Reagan, Tony, and I were in relaxed silence.

Finally, Reagan turned to me. "Wow, you took that well."

I looked at her, then away. I shrugged. "Gotta sooner or later. It's my job."

"Good to hear that."

Tony nudged me softly. "You good?"

I smiled at him. "Yeah."

Reagan looked at us, to which I glared in return, while she looked at the elevator. The doors opened. We entered the underworld of light and buildings. Pepper and Loraine were speaking with Callaghan, who, once again, was surrounded by bodyguard Blues.

Callaghan greeted the three of us, shaking our hands. "I've assembled you all here on behalf of my gratitude and appraisal of your hard work. Project Icarus is becoming a success. Soon, this city will thrive, shine peacefully, and prosper politically and economically."

_I've heard better speeches than that._

I gave a fake smile as Callaghan discussed a ten-minute topic on improvements for Project Icarus. I didn't really pay attention, just nodded and smiled. In my opinion, none of this political crap had any concern with me. My job was to take down Runners, that was it. I had no desire to listen to this 50-year-old man, I just wanted to get back to Nahlah, who was probably anxious to see me again.

Thankfully, Callaghan's meeting was brief. I think I had zoned out most of the time, because then Tony started talking to me about it when we left Callaghan.

In the elevator, Tony looked at me. "Hey, you're quiet."

Loraine folded her arms, smiling. "She's always been quiet, from the get-go. I thought you knew that, Tony, being her stalker and everything."

"Not stalker, boyfriend," defined Tony, glaring at her.

He took this too seriously, almost as if territorial yet awkward about it at the same time. For some reason, this bothered me. I shot a glare at both of them.

"What did I say about my personal life?" I snapped quietly.

"Oh, so he _is_ your personal life?" joked Reagan, grinning with Pepper who tried to restrain hers.

I looked away.

"Hey, why so shy about it?" prodded Tony, grinning at me. "Is it my lack of jokes today? We've been outside on the run all day, I don't blame you. You're lacking comical relief. Here—"

"NO, Tony," I began, when I saw him reaching for me and hell knows why.

"Awe, c'mon, Cel, my comedy has to be the reason for you dating me."

"Dating you, but not falling for you."

Reagan and Pepper chuckled. "Burn," commented Reagan.

Tony gaped at me before glaring at the girls. Back to me, he protested, "Awe, Cel."

"You're like a puppy," I told him frigidly.

"But an adoring puppy," he finished, grinning.

"Stop grinning. You give off this perverted, rapist impression."

"I can't grin? I'm human, so are you. But I don't know about that. You're awfully frowny. You're such a troll."

_"Troll?"_ inquired Reagan with a raised eye brow.

Tony pushed her slightly. "Hey, quit the commentary. Get your own relationship."

Reagan punched Tony, who exclaimed, "Ow" before she punched him harder with two more hits. More of his "Ow, ow, OW, Ray!" complaints followed. What a softy.

In the parking garage, we approached our cars—well, everyone who had cars. Before everyone entered their vehicles, they all paused and looked at me, toying with their keys. The chorusing abrasion of ringing metal bugged me.

"Why don't you ever bring your car? We're not your chauffers," said Loraine, shaking her head in disappointment.

"I'm a Runner. Those things waste gas, money, and time. And they can be disgusting, littered, and smelly," I stated, making a face.

Tony shrugged defensively. "_What?_ My car's actually pretty nice."

"She's talking about my car," laughed Loraine, opening the door to her car. "After all, Tony took my car so my kids had the safety seats."

"Yeah," joined Pepper, dreading the memories. "Will threw up on the way back."

I had forgot about that. My first night with Nahlah felt ages ago. It was hard to believe that was all last night; the events that occurred before that were hazy because they didn't matter, unless Nahlah was in them.

Loraine nodded. "Yeah. Okay, but enough about cars. Celeste, I haven't had you over, yet. Rest at my place? Your new residence will be good and new by the end of this week."

I stared. "No. Really?"

Have I really lost track of time? And I thought Runners had problems with this.

"There was a house nearby that was on sale anyway. We've been working on it since you joined Project Icarus." Loraine impatiently tapped the side of her car, indicating me to join. "C'mon. You deserve some favoritism from the boss."

"Are you for real?" said Reagan. She rolled her eyes, then dipped into her car. "Whatever, later."

"See you tomorrow, Reagan." Pepper waved as Reagan wheeled out of the garage; we stared after her.

"If you hate me, let me know now," said Loraine, leaning againt the opened door of her driver's seat.

I turned to her, pointing out, "You have a family to take care. I don't want to invade."

_I want to be with Nahlah._

Loraine fired a questioning glare. "Where _are_ you gonna go?"

I smirked. "Our deal was I serve Project Icarus in return for no interrogations on my life. C'mon, don't you respect that?"

"Are you going off drinking, is that it?" Loraine pierced her eyes at me. "You're under intense training. Don't let drinking get in the way."

I shrugged away. "No. Besides, it's not that bad. I'm not a heavy one."

"Do you order me to assist Post in case she gets carried away?" proposed Tony to Loraine.

"Hell no," I burst, "What did I tell you about having me go anywhere near a drink with you around?"

"Reagan said that, though," he retorted, grinning.

"And I'm agreeing with her. I'm not going to bars with _you_. Ever," I declared.

"She's in self-denial," joked Tony, grinning infamously. I rolled my eyes, sighing in exasperation. Loraine chuckled, while Pepper just smiled quietly like she usually did.

"Where's it gonna be, Cel? With whom?" said Pepper, growing impatient. "I promised Derick an 8:30 reservation. Hurry up and pick."

"Hey," interjected Tony, looking at me. "We're dating. C'mon, another round?"

"Round of _what_?" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Are you thinking of drinks, cuz I was thinking of sex—" began Tony.

I opened my mouth to choose Loraine, but Tony laughed and waved his hands to dismiss the joke. "I was kidding, Cel! C'mon, let's eat somewhere. At least for an hour or so. Please?"

"You are _desperate_," I emphasized, rolling my eyes. I sighed after a momentary thoughtful silence. "I guess. But not _Ocho's_. Let's give them some time to heal from our last time there."

He chuckled lightly and fondly. "Good idea. Um, what food you in for?"

I shrugged carelessly. "Whatever feeds me--"

Loraine interrupted, starting her engine. "I take it you're with Tony. Good-night." And drove away so quickly.

"How about McDonalds?"

I goggled. "You _serious_?"

"Yeah." His eyes glinted jokingly. "Okay, how about _The Blue Moon_?"

"Or _Luna Blanca_?" I blurted.

"That Mexican restaurant?"

"You racist or something?" I smirked half-heartedly. "Besides, you're going for the English, romantic, fancy restaurant. Sometimes I wonder if you're trying too hard."

"You're worth it, though, right?"

"Enough of the cheesy lines, Tony. I demand Mexican food, I'm in the mood." I held my stomach, thoughts lingering over a simple basket of appetizer salsa and chips. "I haven't eaten since breakfast, do you realize that?"

"Hey, we had that quick snack of bananas," he reminded me as we got into his car, finally.

"Yeah, then you went ahead and pulled a nasty joke off the banana."

Tony backed up and pulled out of the parking garage. "Yeah, but any guy would do it."

"The problem is you went ahead and _did_ it, though." I glowered.

"Don't give me that, I'm driving you around." Nevertheless, Tony grinned.

--

After an hour of me shutting down Tony's dirty jokes or throwing chips at each other, we left _Luna Blanca._ Before getting into Tony's car, he snuck up behind me, pulled me close, encircling my waist, and kissed my cheek from behind—briefly, but gently and lovingly.

This bothered me. I tugged gingerly from him, pushing his mouth away. I got into the passenger's seat.

Before I closed the door, he held it open. "Awe, I see. You're anxious to get to my house and get busy?"

"Tony, grow up," I snapped, pulling to close my door.

He grinned and let me close it. "You're hot when pissed." Then, we drove off.

His house was average, too. Nothing impressive. However, in the interior design reminded me slightly of Nahlah's taste, which pulled at my heartstrings. Tony gave a brief tour, then we slumped on his sofa, a part in which I tried to avoid snuggling with him because that was just too chick and annoying, especially with a guy like him. He was more cuddly than he ever exposed at first glance.

We watched TV, something I wasn't interested in at all, seeing how awkward and very unsocial that was. The news bickered about the Runner hunts, protests, and lobbying for Callaghan.

I was there for two hours. Tony didn't waste a second not trying to talk to me, getting to know me through his perversed comments or gestures. He was like a high school boy, in a way, with a little dignity and respect. But the respect part needed improvement.

"I'm going, Tony," I finally said, sitting up.

"To _where_?" he stressed, giving me a thwarted expression.

Nothing came out of my mouth as I tried to invent a lie. Instead, Tony situated himself straight in his seat on the sofa, and leaned on his legs. He looked at me, studiously fumbling with the remote controller.

"What's going on, Cel?"

"Okay, I'm sorry," I said, turning around, propping a hand on my hip. "But you don't know me well enough to ask 'what's going on'. Even girls like Reagan and Pepper would know not to ask me that. I'm just doing what I do."

"Yeah, but you're always avoiding each and every one of us."

"I _work_ with you nearly twenty-four hours a day. Don't start, Tony."

"We're humans, too, Cel," he blurted. His tone got so serious and low, it didn't sound like it belonged to Tony; that included his expression. "We got private lives, jobs, and feelings. You're acting like a bitch, deliberately detaching yourself from your new friends, your new life."

I remained quiet. I was just not one for words, they always led to horrible, meaningless arguments. Standing there, hand on my hip, I just stared at him, hoping he'd give up. He looked at me, then looked down at his remote controller.

"I act like a pervert, but I'm really not," he reassured with a joking smirk, looking up. "Stay for the night, Cel. You really don't have anywhere to go. We're your new friends, we're welcoming you to stay. The Runners, their rooftops are unfriendly, nor are they."

"This is still about the Runners?" I folded my arms.

"Well, why not?" Tony pointed outside. "They just nearly killed you this morning, Cel!"

"I'm grateful for your concern," I told him, however, I didn't smile. I was sick of this "date" of mine. "But I'm a Runner, too."

"Black Neck," muttered Tony, under the means to correct me. "You're under Project Icarus' authority and protection. Don't take these for granted, skipping out there on the streets as if you're a normal civilian."

"Funny," I said, glaring into thought, "didn't you promise me a life of a civilian, for once, if I joined Project Icarus? I'm not feeling the 'normal' part, so far."

"No one's normal, Cel."

_Haven't heard that one, before._

For some reason, I was seething. So, I just shook my head and sighed. "Fine. I'll stay. But _one_ night. We've only dated once. Not everyone does the night stand-offs. And we'll be sleeping separately. I'll sleep in the bathroom if I have to to keep you away."

Tony kind of smirked darkly. "You treat it as though we're not dating."

"We are dating. But we're not a _couple_. Got it?"

He blinked, then nodded. "Oh, okay. Right. So, I guess, this makes the whole chase all the more interesting?"

"Sure, if you wanna call it that." I shrugged.

Seeing Tony going along relieved me. He was probably urgent to become a couple with me, but I wouldn't allow it. I had Nahlah to think about. Her gentle, defenseless body was all I yearned right now. I didn't need anyone protecting me; I didn't care about the massive, protective arms of Tony or any other male.

"So, I'll sleep out here, you in your bedroom?" I confirmed.

He nodded. "Yup, sure."

So casual. He really was willing to do whatever it took to become my boyfriend. Something twisted inside of me, and I think it was called sympathy, along with frustration.

Keeping Nahlah a secret was hard.

"Oh, so, uh, is there anything you need before you go to bed?" he asked politely.

"Going to bed already?" I asked, staring. "It's only, what, 9:30?"

He folded his hands over his thighs. "It's been a long, rough day. You were up late last night, too. It's obvious."

"Who isn't?"

"Yeah, I might actually just call it a night."

_Really?_ This was perfect. When he was deep in slumber, I could get out of here. Nahlah was probably worried sick.

"Okay, then . . ." My voice drifted off phantomly, trying to figure out what to do about bed settings and all that.

"How about a shower?"

I tossed a nasty glare at him. Tony waved his hands. "Hey, I didn't mean it like _that_. Do you need to take a shower? It means just what it asks."

"Sure. Quickly. I'll get the towel myself."

"I wasn't gonna do anything! Lock the door if you want!"

--

The shower was quick. I made sure I had brought all necessities and change of clothing into the bathroom so I didn't feel compelled to leave it in a towel to get something. Tony provided a heavy bathrobe, something I didn't see people use anymore these days, for my cover-up, along with an overgrown T-shirt underneath the robe just in case.

"What is it with men and big clothing?" I said, coming out, shaking the wetness out of my shampooed hair.

"We look scarier and kick-ass," he answered, drinking out a milk carton.

"And drinking out of milk carton?" I added. "If that were my milk, I woulda suffocated you with a cow's utter if you really love it that bad."

Tony made a face at me, then burst out laughing. "You women nail all these stupid false statements on us," he said, putting back the milk carton. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to be your husband, yet."

"Not planning on it, either."

"But," admitted Tony, "what we men like about women is your obsession with fashion and tight clothing."

I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, you wear that red belly-shirt," he accused.

"I'm a Runner, of course it has to be tight," I remarked strictly. "Anything loose is distracting to our muscle and motion."

"Why jeans, though? Don't those restrict flexibility for a Runner?"

"Not a problem to me."

"Right, cuz you're topnotched."

"My ego is not as topnotched as yours." I started preparing the pull-out sofa, untangling sheets and flapping them out. Tony helped me.

When we finished preparing the bed, I climbed in, and sat up. Tony was half-way exiting the living room, hands on the switch. He turned and smiled. "Night, Cel. Careful."

_"Careful?"_ Oh great. He was going to rape me. "Tony, I wouldn't go anywhere near me when I sleep. I'm a tosser in bed."

"I'm sure you are. You make it sound tempting, too."

What did I tell you? Anything I said, he turned around. So, I just glared, hurled a pillow at him, left it on the floor as he laughed and abandoned it while turning the lights off, and fell asleep.

--

I crept near Tony's opened door, peeking in. He was your typical heavy sleeper, the booming, scratchy snore and motionlessness. I checked the time, seeing that it took him two hours to fall sleep. It was 11:45. Being in a hurry, I kept on Tony's T-shirt, but disposed his bathrobe while slipping my jeans on. Grabbing Nahlah's tanktop she lent me, I slipped out the window, seeing that they were quieter than large doors.

I grabbed a late taxi and once again looked forward to seeing Nahlah.

When I knocked, however, she wouldn't answer.

A feeling of concern fluttered over me. I knocked louder, demanding softly, "Nahlah?"

I looked around. Darkness haunted the streets; a few hints of lamp post lights here and there. Some house lights grinned from the distance down the street, but nothing felt out of place—at least, I hoped.

My heart started stabbing itself over and over in panic.

Then, the door opened.

Nahlah presented her rather sleepy side. Her bed-head was bushier than ever, frizzled and tangled. That didn't bother me, though, because she still looked beautiful.

I smiled affectionately, then goofily smiled. "Wow, look at you."

She blinked before vigorously wiping her sleepy eyes. "Can't you think of an earlier time to arrive? It's always nearly midnight. It's throwing me off my sleeping schedule . . ."

"You can't get tired of me now," I told her, inviting myself in. I closed the door behind us as I pushed her back, embracing her, kissing her.

Nahlah accepted my lips, then drew back. "Then don't be late."

"Hey, don't gimme that. Work."

"I have work, too, Cel. And look who's here first."

"That's because you live here."

Before Nahlah could protest, I pressed another kiss; I really missed her. She felt this as my hands groped her neck, then down toward her waist. Her hand stroke mine on her waist before it traveled up my bare arm, cupping my jaw as she pressed into me.

Shortly afterwards, Nahlah pushed us apart gently, smiling. "Celeste . . ."

It felt so weird, yet exhilarating, to hear her voice say my name. My heart throbbed as I looked into her eyes, holding her.

"What?"

". . . I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

I looked at her, short of words. She smiled briefly before tenderly taking my hands and tugging me with her toward her bedroom. I looked after her, speechless.

_So soon?_

When we got to her bed, Nahlah gracefully tore off her tank top. I don't know if that was her bed-time shirt or from today, but that didn't matter to me. The moment I saw her bra, my hands lingered for the straps—but Nahlah turned around, held my hands, and leaned forward to kiss me passionately once more. I didn't know when this would end, but I didn't think about it as I took her kiss. She held my face as I gently pushed her backwards onto her bed. I crawled over her as I laid her onto her back, our fingers interlocked. Nahlah helped me shrug my shirt off. Then, her fingers nibbled for the back of my bra as my lips caressed her throat.

Between breaths, I told her, "You better not be tired. This is our only hours together. I have to get up early tomorrow."

The brunette underneath me stole another kiss, while she sat up slightly so I could undo her bra. Taking a breather, she looked up at me as we removed her bra.

"You haven't done this before, Celeste. Let's not go too far."

I couldn't believe the woman who wanted me the most was saying this. But I respected that, despite the burning desire in my heart.

"We have all the time in the world," whispered Nahlah.

We looked into each other's eyes, nothing else.

As I held her in bed, chin snuggled against her neck, I knew what I had to do. As long as I served Project Icarus, I had access to Nahlah. She was under legal protection by my request to Loraine, from Runners and the PK alike. If I could just keep taking down Runners until Project Icarus' goal was met, this would all be over and I wouldn't have to worry about being able to see her only at midnight.

And she was right. We had all the time in the world.


	26. Sunshine and Blue Sky

Chapter 26:

Sunshine and Blue Sky

"_Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel against the realities pressing into her soul". The Awakening_ by Kate Chopin, pages 38-39.

It was from some book I found on Nahlah's nightstand. These very words were right; they described everything I felt.

This morning felt fresh and new. I felt awakened from this "delicious, grotesque, impossible dream". Everything seemed to be mine, now, in a victorious yet emotional taste. The sunshine and blue sky was mine, Nahlah was mine, my life was finally the way I wanted it: rich, relaxing, and definitely romantically rewarding.

The relaxation part wasn't totally definite. There was serving as a Black Neck hunting down Runners and Tony still in question.

I put _The Awakening_ back on Nahlah's nightstand, along with a note for Nahlah. Next, I looked protectively and wondrously upon the woman in bed. Her arms were comfortably hugging close to the pillow beneath her cheeks; one cheek nestled deeply into her pillow, deep into sleep. Brown hair tumbled and sprayed to one side of her, exposing the beautiful vastness of her naked neck and soft back.

Quietly, I gently pulled up the covers over her so she didn't get cold. Tucking hair behind her ears, I examined her face one last time before kissing her cheek.

It was 7:30 a.m. when I left Nahlah's quietly. The faint moon in the sleeping sky above faded from pearlwhite to a copper gold. It was that stillness of dawn where everything was harmless, enthralling, silent, and of nothingness. I enjoyed my run on the rooftops back to Tony's.

I'm sure it was enough of a morning exercise. When I got there, I was sweating and panting, afraid he'd already woken up and called the entire city to search me. When I opened the door, Tony's head snapped from the living room.

"CELESTE!" he declared, darting to me.

_Here we go._

I panted, planting hands against my hips to catch some breath. Tony gave a quick, frantic scan of sweatpants I grabbed from Nahlah and the tanktop I wore from last night. Then, he glared at me with anxiety.

"What the HELL, Cel! Where've you been?" he roared. His thick hands grabbed me protectively by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I was so out of breath I just shook my head and gently swat his hands away. Gasping, I answered, "I'm fine, Tony. I went out on a morning jog."

He looked at me, bewildered.

I continued to keep him from pressing further unnecessary questions. "You freak too much. Get it through your head. We're not a couple, stop acting territorial and protective."

"You didn't leave a note—!" he began, more pissed than concerned. "And why are you out of breath? Did you do something?"

"I didn't think I'd take that long. And I just told you, I went jogging—you didn't wake up the whole city, did you?"

Tony exhaled, calming down already, which surprised me. I was relieved, though. Like a cat, he swept his hand nervously over his short, prickly hair back and forth. I gave a final exhale as I watched him sit down on the pull-out couch.

It was quiet, except for my slowing breathing.

Finally, I could pull out a mumbled "I called Reagan" from Tony. I threw a look: "Of all people, you called Ray?"

"She was the first that popped to my head."

"I can't believe you people. If Reagan disappeared, would you have assumed she got kidnapped or betrayed us? Would you have _cared_?" I snapped, irritated.

"There's no way in hells she could get kidnapped anyway, not _that_ bitch," agreed Tony with a gruff chuckle. "And she has no reason to betray Project Icarus. I mean, look at her at all those fancy parties!"  
"Her reasons for not leaving Project Icarus are the same as mine," I confirmed, sweeping the sweat from the nape of my neck. "My _God_."

"Sorry, sorry," said Tony, shame clouding his expression. "I called Ray, but I didn't tell her to arouse the whole city."

"Good. That was wise." I didn't want to hear this male's voice anymore, so I sighed and rolled my eyes. "C'mon, let's get going. Duty calls."

At PK headquarters, we met up with the rest. Reagan shook her head in disappointment at Tony and gave me a raised eyebrow when we approached. From there, Loraine sent us out on the lookout for Runners. I doubted there were many left, but that day was full of five more Runners to chase down. Only on one of the runs did Loraine join us, otherwise, she was like a Tracker telling us where to go and whom to team with.

We had long breaks on rooftops between each chase, mainly because we never knew when a Runner would pop up. Sometimes Pepper would pull out snacks for us; Reagan and Tony had to toss a game of cards when Loraine alerted a Runner nearby; on other breaks, Tony, Ray, and I were arguing on politics, something I never really absorbed myself into.

Overall, the chases I grew used to, or at least forced myself to grow used to. I had to, for Nahlah. Each one was your typical chase between a Runner and an ex-Runner. It was amusing, or sometimes even deserving of empathy every time we got them. In some cases, Runners were able to kill off our comrade Blues or Black Necks, or at least knock them out. Each chase was slightly different depending on the Runner, his or her stealth, and distinct capabilities. The chases would be short, long, a case of solving the environment both Black Neck and Runners had to figuree out, or even melee combats.

Tony or Ray, masters in the fields of melee combat, took to their delight of tasering Runners. Reagan and I teamed up, our Running technique winning over our targets, while Pepper's firearm skills shot down Runners from the Edge. It sounds like genocide, but it was more like political affairs.

Other than a few melee fights or gunfires, the chases were simple. Run and fetch. Each arrest meant more time with Nahlah.

It went on like this for the following weeks to come. I had my midnights with Nahlah, watching DVDs, sleeping in each other's arms, chatting or dancing to music, going out to night clubs, visiting the _Fye_ store to buy Lily Allen or Abby Payne and many more, teaching me how to give massages although we both knew it was better to have Nahlah massaging me, or me sleeping in her lap as she read her little leisure books. Additionally, things got less complicated when I finally got my own new house thanks to Loraine. It was a simple condo near the Shard, which was in restoration.

Within nearly a month, all I had to do was infiltrate the communication lines of Runners, Trackers, and civilian clients. It was a matter of manipulation and speed. We were all speed, just like the Runners, except more serious and more trained.

Not to mention there were more of us than the dwindling Runners.

Even when Runners tried to dart out all at once in the hopes to cause scattered confusion, it wasn't enough. There was simply too much of us against them, all of us black-clad shadows pursuing human beings. It was as if darkness took over, and I was very heart of it in the name of Nahlah—I _trained_ them, I participated in the rare murders or numerous arrests of Runners, Trackers, and clients alike. I even coexisted with the Blues—I even led them.

The days grew quieter. Sometimes three days there wouldn't be anyone. These were the calmer days on which Loraine let some of us off duty. I ran off to meet Nahlah at random harbors, malls, restaurants, or parks.

Then, there were the other quiet days when Tony was attempting to get us together. I guess it was my fault for saying we were "dating" but not an official "couple". Those dates were tedious. Though Tony and I had our funny, stupid quarrels they were still nothing compared to my dreamlike, eternal hours with Nahlah. I began to see Tony more like a buddy, not that I ever thought otherwise from the beginning. This realization badgered me as his attempts to officially label me "girlfriend" were peaking.

Finally, on a Wednesday early afternoon, Loraine told us, "This city's pretty clean. We have plenty PK units to it sweep up—you guys go run off. We'll call you later, so keep your earpieces in."

I never obeyed that order. I removed my earpience, knowing that since today Tony was nagging me to join him at the park, he'd have his earpiece in. At least I wouldn't have to deal with the every now and then comments Black Necks had on their earpieces.

As Tony and I wandered the business streets of Shard City on our way to the park, a question popped up in my head.

"Hey," I said, "whatever happened to the Connor sisters?"

Tony was sipping from a Dunkin' Donuts coffee cup. I hadn't seen those in a while.

He slurped, before swallowing and answering, "Hm, ya know what, we haven't heard much. We're still working on that, seeing that Loraine did mention they were top priotority."

I nodded, silently musing over the question.

Tony looked at me as we walked. "What, is something bothering you? Did you find something?"

I shook my head, shrugging. "Frankly, no. But, no, I was just wondering. It's just. It's . . . nearbly been a month since the Connors fled. I sometimes can't help but wonder what happened to her, while at the same time, it's hard to believe time flew by so quick. This city is a new world from what it was weeks ago."

"No offense," said Tony after a pause, "but I can't wait when we catch her. She's the reason this city's been so racked up. It's either we catch her, or she leaves this damn city. Hasn't she ever heard of moving?"

"Or emigration."

Tony looked at me from the middle of his sipping. "You don't seriously think she's been gone for so long cuz she emigrated or something?"

"Sounds reasonable. And possible."

"So . . . then, what do we do from here?"

I looked at him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. What do we do—send WANTED posters worldwide? I mean, yeah, I could see her spreading her influence over other cities. In fact, I'm sure there are other cities that have Runners over the nation."

"And France. Where free-style running originated. It's basically a sport."

"True."

We arrived at the park, where we sat down on benches, absorbing the vibrant neon-blue day. Few couples with toddlers or business people scurried around. Next to me, Tony finished slurping his coffee before disposing it in the trashcan beside our bench. Then, we sat in silence, letting the hum of the busy city take over with the droning crowds.

"Hey, speaking of France," started Tony, arms folded, "We should go to Paris or something."

"Why?" I returned abruptly.

He seemed to have prepared himself for my rapid neglection. He answered right away: "It's a pretty place. Aren't you sick of these same streets?"

I spread my arms out across the crown of the bench, and leaned my head back. The sun baked my face as I greeted the blue sky with squinting, yet admiring eyes.

"Actually," I murmured, "I was thinking more of a non-urban place. Try rural areas, Tony. Like, Mexico."

"All the better to see Cel in a swimming suit," gloated Tony. I heard the grin in his tone, and without looking, nudged him.

"Why are you talking first-person?" I grunted sarcastically.

Tony ignored me. "We're fucking rich. Let's go to Mexico. _Vamos!"_

_Oh, God._

"Not _us_. I was referring to myself. _Occupado."_

"Selfish, Cel, I'm disappointed."

"We're not a couple, Tony."

There was a quick sigh of frustration as Tony declared, "Celeste, it's been a month. We're either 'going out' or not."

"Okay, we're not."

He was caught off by my quick response. "Hey, don't, Cel. Let's go on a cruise or something."

"No more fucking ships or cities," I snapped, sitting up again, glaring at him. "I want a real beach."

"You'll get your beach," he said urgently. "So, now that we're in the balmy mood, let's have a talk with Loraine. I'm sure she doesn't mind being up to vacation. And Ray and Pep?"

"What part of, _occupado,_ do you not get—the 'occu', or the 'pado'?" I growled.

Tony laughed. "Fine. We won't talk about it now . . ."

I folded my arms gratefully, then leaned my head back once more. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the fresh air.

This was interrupted by a wet smooch as Tony pulled back, laughing as I gasped and bolted from my seat. I scooched away from him, glaring.

"GodDAMMIT, Tony!"

"Sorry, you hate PDA?"

_Wow._ "Lower the affection, Tony. And stop acting like a high school boy or something."

"You're so boring and sensitive," he muttered, trying to analyze me as if from a different angle. "We're going out, yet you act all defensive, shy, and embarrassed."

"Because I _am_ embarrassed, completely by your very presence."

"Ow, Cel." He grinned, nevertheless, as if knowing every harmful meaning I attempted was only affectionate sarcasm. "Geez, get better sarcasm."

"Get better jokes."

"Get better makeup."

"Get a better face."

Tony made a face. I rolled my eyes, turning away.

"What's this? Celeste Post, _smiling_? But she dare not show it!" dramatized Tony as he tried to get into my face over my shoulders.

I mumbled some things I hoped hurt Tony, but he was oblivious to them as his index finger reached around me and twisted into the corner of my mouth like a screwdriver. This was my one and only weakness he discovered—something _I_ never even knew about—that made me involuntarily smile because it fucking _tickled_. I slapped his hands away.

"Don't do that!"

"But it makes you smile," he cracked, drawing back his hand as he smirked like some genius.

"No, it _pisses_ me off," I snapped. "Because I hate being tickled."

"So it _is_ your ticklish spot? Your _cheek_?" exclaimed Tony, bursting into amused laughter.

He reached again. This time, I jumped from my bench. I couldn't believe he was doing this. What an arrogant, ignorant idiot. Tony stood up, aiming that finger like a gun.

Defensive, I threatened to strike a kick-your-ass stance, but he backed away.

"Whoa, not in public, Cel," he cautioned, still grinning. "I don't want you to get _too_ used to kicking me in the face—what if you're one day wearing a _skirt_?"

I punched him anyway. He intentionally accepted it as I gutted his stomach, but that really had no effect. He had a _pack_. Tony rubbed his abdomen after I withdrew my fist, grinning.

"Wow, if you really wanted to feel me so bad—" he began, but I roared in disgust and defeat and turned away. "Hey, where you heading?"

"Anywhere from you."

"You're so sensitive, damn," he said, trotting up alongside me. He walked backwards, something I noticed he liked to do when trying to maintain pace with rejective women he liked. "And you'd think someone's ticklish spot would send them smiling and laughing."

"Not me. It pisses me off."

"Like this?" Tony poked me in the ribs. My arms instinctively swept out protectively in front of me.

_"Tony . . ."_ I started through gritted teeth.

He poked me again in the stomach. Involuntarily, I bent over while trying to shield myself, but he kept at it. I was bending over and straightening up like a reflexive snake attacking and withdrawing.

"Gah—Tony—TONY, stop—dammit—_Tony!"_

The Black Neck just beamed, deciding not to poke anymore. Before he could poke me again, someone called my name.

"Celeste, Tony, hey!"

"Hey, long time, Nahlah!" returned Tony immediately when Nahlah approached us. She was clutching _The Awakening_ to herself again. I recalled her telling me she was nearly done with it.

Nahlah beamed at me, waving her typical shy smile, bright eyes sweeping over me in such an emotional wave it made me feel light. This joy and pride jumped inside me; I felt like I had every right to claim this gorgeous craftsmanship in front of me as mine; this beauty was _mine_.

"What'cha been up to?" asked Tony. "Last time I saw you was at the _Fye_."

I looked at him, then at Nahlah. "You two bumped into each other?"

Nahlah shrugged. "I was checking out some Abby Payne albums."

I couldn't help but grin. Tony didn't notice it, seeing that he was ranting again to Nahlah about future massage appointments.

"Hey, it's just you and me. Massage," claimed Tony, nudging Nahlah while pointing at himself with a doggy grin.

"Are you cheating on Celeste by flirting with me, Tony?" Nahlah smirked, inquiring eyebrows bobbing.

Tony gave a twisted, confused look. "Wait, how'd you . . .?"

"Cel and I bumped into each other." Nahlah shrugged cutely again.

The whole time I was listening to them talking, I was exchanging sneaky glances with Nahlah. We both found our Dirty Little Secret so hysterical. No one knew about us but us. As Tony glared into confused thought, I threw a secretive smirk at Nahlah. I was impressed by this rare dominant, sneaky, territorial side of her; the way she spoke to Tony as though it was all about her and me, as if secretly conveying that I was hers, not Tony's.

Finally, Tony just shook his head as if defeated. "Whatever. Yeah, Cel and I are 'dating', according to her. But it's been a month. I say we're a couple. You might as well go and tell the whole city."

I rolled my eyes, putting a hand on my hip. I was already pissed as Tony's hand wrapped around my waist, as if to prove his point.

Then, Nahlah accidentally dropped her book. "Sorry—" said Nahlah.

"I got it—," insisted Tony politely at the same time.

They both bent down. Nahlah accidentally kicked the book when they both reached. As Tony chased it, Nahlah straightened up and pulled me into a kiss. This caught me off guard, but I took it gratefully without care. Our hands fondled each other's hips, legs, arms, backs, faces. However, that split of three seconds passed, in which Nahlah had to push us apart as Tony came to us with her book.

"Got a little grass crap on it, but it's good," he told Nahlah as he returned it.

Nahlah smiled casually. "Thanks. Sorry about that. Well, nice seeing ya . . ."

"Hey, actually, I was hoping Tony and I could go to the New Eden Mall and check out some CDs," I blurted. "Wanna come along?"

Nahlah and Tony looked at me quizzically.

Tony said, "Huh?"

I shrugged, looking at him. "Apparently you were looking at some music at Fye. I wanna see what you've been looking at."

Tony studied me before finally grinning triumphantly. "What's this, you're thinking some Tony music will swoon you over?"

I rolled my eyes, while Nahlah looked away.

I punched Tony in the arm this time. "I love that store. Buy some CDs for me?"

Tony was even more surprised, while Nahlah secretly flickered her eyes my way in a questioning tone.

My "date" exclaimed, "Okay, I think you're god-damn hot, Cel, but since when were you all chick asking me to buy stuff for you?"

"I'm not a chick," I grunted. "There are some good CDS, and, I dunno . . ."

Even I didn't know where I was going with. Tony and Nahlah were still looking at me, Nahlah specifically wondering where her place was in this.

But then Tony burst, "Awe, now that I think about it, two hot chicks shopping at the New Eden Mall, buying more new skirts." He turned to Nahlah, who returned his grin with a puzzled, timid look. "Since we're there, you might as well teach Cel how to be a chick. Help her pick out some skirts."

"What the hell?" I growled, scowling.

My comrade grinned. "C'mon, Cel, show some skin. Be proud of your body!"

I arched an eyebrow at him, while trying to catch a glimpse of what Nahlah's reaction was. I was anticipating jealousy, rage, or disgust. However, Tony was looking at me so I had to just glare at him hoping that would urge us to the mall.

With a nod of her head and timid smile, Nahlah agreed to join us. We walked to the mall. In _Fye_, Tony showed me some CDs whose artists or titles I paid no heed to as he got carried away rambling about them. I was focused on Nahlah on the other side of us, looking at some CDs.

"Hey, Cel!" exclaimed Ari from the counter. It's been a while since I saw her here. Were my Project Icarus duties seriously that long and heavy?

"Ari," I returned, waving. I briefly introduced her to Tony, who was still occupied with his CDs. I didn't bother introducing Nahlah to Ari, seeing that they probably already met, and that Nahlah was occupied in the far aisle of CDs.

"Any CDs you wanted, Cel?" said Tony.

I looked at him. "Oh, so you _will_ insist buying me crap?"

"Hey, you asked. So, do you want CDs or what?"

I couldn't think of any new music I wanted at the moment, but then Nahlah approached us and handed me some Linkin Park album. "You said you couldn't find this. Here's their last one."

Tony and I looked at her. To break the awkward silence, I smiled and thanked her. I turned and slapped the album onto the pile in Tony's hands. "Thanks, Tony. We'll be back."

He just gawked at us. "Wait, what? Where you going?"

"You wanted me to go get some skirts, right?"

Pause. Tony's whole state was frozen in confusion. "Uhhh . . . I didn't really mean it, but . . ."

I shrugged and left him in the Fye store, Nahlah following me.

In the fitting room in _Old Navy_, our lips fought slowly yet fervently as Nahlah's hand scoped under my new jean skirt she had me try on. She had me against the wall, igniting that fire of lust inside me once more. Its flames enriched every inch in my body, making me want to feel every part of her. I took over, gently pushing her against the mirror.

"You gonna buy it?" asked Nahlah between our kisses.

"No, not because of Tony," I answered, swallowing her in a kiss. "But for you, maybe . . ."

"Shhh," hissed Nahlah, smirking playfully with me as though we were committing the biggest crime. She meant the whole fitting room of the few girls present would hear us. It was a funny thought.

Nahlah and I grinned at each other, holding each other's gazes as I swept her hair over her shoulder.

Nahlah whispered, "I don't like skirts. Not on you, at least."

"I'll take it off, geez."

She and I tried to hold in our snorts and chuckles. Finally, she held herself together and hissed, "If you're gonna buy it, fine. But don't take it off now. Tony's probably wondering where we are."

"So?" I kissed her, but then she urged me to get dress.

We restrained our grins when Tony found us in the food court. There, we had lunch. I found it strange and nerve-racking that Nahlah was opening herself to Tony like that; going to lunches or resteraunts and stores with us in public. The city's security cameras were bound to see her with me. Next, Project Icarus would prod into my personal life, asking who she was. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had done _nothing_ wrong that deserved Nahlah being endangered. I had served Project Icarus with all my being just so I could be with her. I began to calm down more the more she hung out with Tony and me.

I also figured it was because Nahlah knew she won me. Seeing Tony thinking he'd won me was funny to her. Nahlah enjoyed being with us, knowing I was smiling not because of Tony, but because she was there. What courage she had to face seeing Tony kissing me briefly, or attempting to kiss me. I didn't blame her, she was correct: All I could think of was her lips every time Tony kissed me once in a while during our lunch conversations.

I also wondered subconsciously it was also so she could keep any eye on me—to make sure I wasn't falling for Tony's flawed, haughty, petty personality. I reassured her. Every time Tony did something rather hysterical or stupid, we all laughed, all the time me holding her glance.

Smiling felt great; laugher was something I haven't heard in a while, being up there on the empty, vast, high rooftops. It was Nahlah's charming, flawless, smooth, and hushed chuckles that entranced me; her lit-up face that blurred out everything else that made me feel so alive. My life had been nothing but about the sunshine and blue sky, but now everything had colors.


	27. The Runner

Chapter 27:

The Runner

Tony, Nahlah, and I walked out of restaurant when a gradual uproar came from our right. It took me five seconds to realize Blues were in pursuit; someone was jolting through the crowd of on-goers brushing by us.

"What the?" murmured Tony, eyes darting to search the pursued. I saw him ready to provide justice. Next to me, Nahlah was curious, too.

It all happened within seconds, yet slow at the same time. A Blue pounced and tackled a boy no older than eleven and struggled to restrain him. The boy wriggled and fought out from underneath the massive cop, a yellow handbag strapped over a shoulder. He panted by us, panicking.

"What the hell?" burst Tony and I.

The boy tripped on his way past us, as we stood in disbelief. He scrambled again to flee, but the fallen Blue's comrade caught up and grabbed the boy by the arm.

From my side, Nahlah broke toward cop and boy. "He's just a boy—what are you doing?"

"Nahlah," I called after her as I picked up the pace after her. Tony was hot on my trail.

The Blue strangled the boy's arms behind his back. However, the child proved quite a difficulty as he squirmed and viciously bit at his captor. It wasn't long until the other Blue caught up and joined him as they teamed to shackle the boy. However, Nahlah was there the same time the other Blue was.

"Hey—he's just a boy!" she cried out, approaching them menacingly.

"Nahlah, leave it alone—" I began.

"He's a Runner, that's what he is," said one of the Blues, reaching for the yellow handbag.

The boy was crying as if having an anxiety attack. He called for help and bawled—but he suddenly managed to keep the handbag from the Blues.

He tossed it toward Nahlah.

"SAVE THE RUNNERS!" he cried out just as the Blues handcuffed him. One of them picked him up as he kicked and squealed like a feisty, disobedient child.

Nahlah had caught the bag, startled by the boy's sudden last resort. The crowds around us thickened as bystanders grew into an uproar of approval and protest by both Callaghan and Runner supporters.

"NAHLAH," I demanded, catching up with her, pushing by onlookers.

Behind me, Tony shoved others aside. "Nahlah, c'mon, forget it—don't get yourself involved!"

One of the Blues approached Nahlah, calmly demanding the yellow handbag. Instead, Nahlah silently shook her head and held the strap firmly. The Blue insisted again in a sharper tone, taking a step. Nahlah took a step back.

"NALHAH, dammit," I hissed, grabbing her by the arm.

My heart was surging with icy-hot fear. I glared at her, insisting she drop the bag.

Nahlah's eyes were completely aware of the Blue in front of her, and only the Blue. She paid me no attention.

The officer snapped, "_Ma'am_, give me the bag. Now."

"Nahlah," argued Tony, gawking.

"Look, I understand you support the Runners and their cause," I whispered to her as I tried to lightly tug the bag from her. "But give the cop the bag. You're gonna get in trouble—"

"No—NO, _don't_! Don't give it to them! SAVE THE RUNNERS!" screeched the boy, who was still squirming. The cop holding him was very annoyed.

The Blue demanding the bag from Nahlah suddenly tilted his head to his shoulder as he pressed against an earpiece and said, "We have a situation on Callum Street. We have a Runner captured, and a woman refuses to hand over his bag."

"SHIT, Nahlah, give him the fucking bag," barked Tony. He reached for the bag and tugged, but Nahlah stepped five times backwards from both of us and the Blue.

I looked at her, reading the freckles of sad light in her eyes, the eyes of sorrow, hope, fear, and refusal.

"Nahlah," I whispered, reaching out my hand, "c'mon, give them the bag."

Nahlah shook her head, whispering, "I'm sorry, Celeste. But this just isn't _right_."

Tony, next to me, gave her a hot look before saying, "The Runners are _screwed_, Nahlah. You're forgetting that? What reason do you have to support a campaigner who's dead and a cause that is already dying? Give it up, already."

This all came out of nowhere. What happened to those minutes we just shared back in the restaurant?

I looked at Nahlah, whose eyes, for the first time, were focused too much on the boy who was still being held, crying. Tony and I gaped, from her to the boy. A minute passed and a police car pulled up, sirens turned off. Two more Blues took the boy, who was still sniffling violently but halted his sobbing as if it was the last brave thing he could do for his cause. He whimpered as they pushed him into the back of their car, while the Blue glaring speechlessly at Nahlah folded his arms.

"Ma'am, last warning," he began.

"Dammit!" exclaimed Tony. He whipped around, clawing for the bag. Nahlah resisted by keeping hold of it as they had a tug-of-war.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you leave us no choice . . ." The Blue pulled out handcuffs, while the two others followed him. They approached Nahlah. "This is your _last_ warning: give us the bag!"

Nahlah turned to me, still holding on to the stupid yellow bag. "CELESTE! Help him!"

"He's a Runner, Nahlah," I snapped back. Then, I urged, "Please, Nahlah, let go of the fucking bag. It's a fucking _bag_!"

"Celeste, please . . .! Help the Runners," pleaded the brunette.

Just as the Blues drew closer, Tony stepped in front of them, hand firmly pushing one of them back in the chest. "Hold it, pal, she's done _nothing_ wrong. Whether she refuses or not, you'll still get the bag. Don't spaz."

"_Sir_, step aside," snarled the Blue, trying to maintain courtesy. Obviously they didn't recognize Tony as a Black Neck.

The Blues were not my concern, only the brunette beside me. I stared at her while the hushes of our surrounding crowd spiked to high murmurs or protests regarding the Runner or the bag. Nahlah returned my hot stare with a softer, teary glance before looking away at something on the paved sidewalk.

Stiffly, I ripped the strap from her hands, while she stared at me helplessly yet icily. When I turned around, Tony turned around after speaking with the Blues, who faltered in their approach; they glared or watched with confusion, amusement, or vexation.

"Here. Sorry, officers," I muttered as I surrendered the yellow bag.

The Blue said nothing as he took it. He only nodded with gallantry, then turned and handed the bag to his comrades. They returned to their car with it, while I heard one of them report, "Let's get this boy back outta here . . ."

The other Blues told the crowd to disperse or step back. I attempted to pull Nahlah along, but she remained where she stood, staring into space. Nearby, Tony was whispering with one of the Blues. Finally, they exchanged brief good-byes and parted. The sirens whined as they drove away, echoing throughout the streets. There were remains of gossip and anxiety amongst civilians as they slowly walked away in a daze. Some kept looking back over their shoulders at the scene.

Tony stood there, looking out upon the streets and the departing civilians. He sighed, scratching his hand over his thin hair back and forth.

"Nahlah . . ." I began.

The brunette barely moved her head. Her eyes looked at me sideways with this cold silence, then frigidly returned to the streets.

Tony walked toward us, hands stuffed into his rich-brown leather jacket pockets. He gave us a brief scan before scratching his head again like a cat.

"C'mon . . . let's go."

"Nahlah," I murmured.

Finally, the beautiful statue stirred slightly as she exhaled a staggered breath. She turned to us, smiled so weakly it was as if she was dying, and thanked us for lunch.

"I'll see you later." She turned sharply and walked away across a crosswalk.

I watched her mutely, looking at the white bars of the crosswalk that tore her from me. Then, I watched her again.

Next to me, Tony was growling in his own thoughts. Finally, he said rashly, "C'mon. We've got to discuss this with Loraine and the others."

--

"They _are_ getting desperate," agreed Loraine as she leaned against the high wall, which belonged to a "building" of our PK training grounds.

"But who could say he really was a Runner," theorized Pepper, sitting down. "Maybe he was just a boy who picked it up from a Runner who had fallen earlier. Maybe he thought he could get away with it seeing he was only a child. He was a foolish boy, nevertheless, easily inspired by the heroic figures Runners display."

"Runners still use those stupid yellow bags?" grumbled Tony, crossing his thick arms in aggrovation.

"What will the Blues do to him?" I asked. In all honesty, I emphasized for the child, and worried as much as Nahlah did.

Pepper frowned. "We know he's a kid, we're not monsters. They're sending him back to his family. But don't think there will be no warnings to his parents."

I pressed harshly, "Not imprisomenent, right?"

"He's only a boy, of course not."

"What happens to his family, though, in terms of the 'warnings'?"

"The suggestion is concerning," said Reagan, sighing. "We may have to press our questions. Ya know, search their house, study historical and biographical profiles of his family, what he does before, during, and after school, see whether or not the boy is truly connected with the Runners. Just for caution. There are chances he isn't severely connected, but if he's one with determination and devotion to the Runners, who knows. Maybe."

"And what was in the bag?"

"The usual vital information."

"One more thing," I announced.

All assembled Black Necks looked at me, suddenly curiously aroused by my series of questions and concerns. I looked at Loraine, folding my arms. "Please be honest with me: Have you been keeping vital information from me regarding Faith and Kate Connors?"

There was a pause before Tony answered in a quiet tone, "Not really. Why, Cel?"

"'Not really'?" I quoted with questioning, raised eyebrows.

Tony looked at our comrades, then back at me. ". . . Very little information about the Connors, to be frank. But, it's not enough—not even worth talking about. All we know, or suspect, is that they're still here in the city. Faith Connors is still a heavily dutied Runner to her city. She fought hard to free Kate, she won't stop until the city is free."

I looked at him inquiringly.

"What's going on, Celeste?" asked Reagan.

"Lemme know when you find her," I requested sternly. Everyone stared. "Because I want to personally take her down myself."

"Wait, what?" Tony took an involuntarily step forward. "Where did this come from? What would it do except boil the tension between you two extensively? You betrayed and hurt her as it is, Cel. Let's not piss her off."

"Yeah, you said so yourself," concurred Pepper, "Faith Connors is one Runner you do not wanna mess with. She's bold and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. She was capable of saving Kate, now she wants to save this city, whatever that means in her terms . . ."

"It's the least I can do," I blurted.

"Atonement?" whispered Reagan, tilting her head slightly as she observed whatever expression I wore.

I broke a tiny smile at her. "Yeah. For old time's sake. You Black Necks don't know what the best and honorable way for a Runner to die is."

"What, Runners have 'dying rights of honor'?" snorted Tony, but his expression fell serious when I glared at him. "What? Seriously, you think killing Faith Connors with your own hands will be an act of mercy between two old friends? We won't sanction her, we'll just _arrest_ her. Long time in prison until time wears off in which she won't be able to do anything about the city anymore. What are you gonna do, push her off the Edge on her request?"

I was quiet as I thought it out. I shook my head quietly. "No. You'll see when that time comes."

--

Tony told me he actually did plan a massage later that evening. He urged me to come along, seeing that our friend Nahlah was giving the special treatment. However, I rebuked.

"Wait, _what_? You're ditching a _massage_?" Tony stared at me. "Celeste, you haven't had one for weeks. C'mon, give yourself a break."

_I'm seeing Nahlah tonight, anyway, like I've always been._

Besides, I couldn't afford talking with Nahlah concerning the passing events with Tony there. And massaging was not on my mind. We needed to talk. We've lived nearly a month without problems. I wasn't going to let petty Runners get in my way to Nahlah. I had to tell her to let go of the past and live with me in the present. It was the only way to protect her from the impermanence of this city.

"This isn't about that boy, is it?" asked Tony as we left headquarters. "Seriously, I didn't think you'd be as worked up about it as Nahlah was. I can understand your empathy for Runners, but I thought you left that behind."

"I have, but, c'mon, he was a _boy_," I admitted.

"Yeah, I know. But if it was Nahlah's stupid reaction, then don't let her bother you. The cause she fights for is dying anyway. Let her weep."

I stared at Tony, who was too busy driving us away, insisting he'd drop me off at my new condo (which I still barely used like my previous since I've been at Nahlah's most of the time).

"You never told me Nahlah was a Callaghan supporter," mentioned Tony as he shifted gear, eyes ahead on the road.

"What point was there? 'The cause she fights for is dying anyway'," I said, shrugging the subject off.

Tony shot a quick glance at me. "Hey, was that a cold shrug I saw? You just quoted me in sarcasm. Really, what's upsetting you?"

"Today was strange, okay, Tony?" I sighed, leaning against my hand, elbow propped against the window.

"Yeah, I know. Little boys are becoming Runners now," he murmured. "I wouldn't be surprised if school track teams were secretly training Runners. The Runners are running out of options."

I had enough of the word "Runner" for today. "Take me home, Tony. Enjoy your massage, but I'd like time to myself."

You'd think for a Black Neck who's been bringing down Runners for thet past month had gotten used to the mention of Runners. Those past weeks were different, though. I was chasing them, I didn't really know them, I was doing my job, and I saw Nahlah. Today was different. Under the shadow of a building, I witnessed a new leap of faith sent by the Runners. I saw it in a little, ordinary, desperate, loyal boy. A random boy who may not have been a Runner, but a loyal comrade behind the lines. And I witnessed it with Nahlah, next to me, seeing her reaction for the first time right there on the spot.

In a way, it was kind of nice to know she had compassion for the dying causes, as if Runners were endangered species. I was once a Runner, I understood that fear and spike of exhilarating, unhealthy adrenaline. I understood that need of help from others. I was glad Nahlah was lending that effort.

But once again, how could I protect the one I cherished from my own people? She and I were opposite forces. I was the leash of authority, and she was the dog tugging back. I was trying to protect her from the people who could imprison her for being strict a Callaghan supporter, but how could I when she openly resisted like that.

My thoughts were interrupted as Tony said, "Okayyy . . . I'll tell Nahlah you say hi."

"Yeah. Thanks."

He dropped me off at my boring condo. I sat outside on my porch, a wineglass in my grasp, as evening sat gray haunches on the brim of the glowing city.


	28. The Gift

Chapter 28:

The Gift

I went to Nahlahs' box at 9:00 that same night, but she wasn't home. I took a taxi to _Soulier_, then _KK's Klub_. At the club, she was on late shift, according to Farid.

"Where is she?" I urged him, impatient for once.

"NA-NA!" he called. He suddenly went up staircases I never noticed. Before he was halfway up them, Nahlah's head popped from the upper level. When she looked questioningly at Farid, who pointed to me, she glimpsed toward me and gave a short wave. I waved back with a tiny smile, then leaned against the bar, waiting. She came spiraling down the staircase in a cute trot.

"Hey. What's up?" she asked when she approached me.

We kissed each other on the cheeks briefly before I drew back and said, "Hey, you didn't tell me you had late shift here."

"Yeah," she said, sighing, awkwardly brushing her hair off her shoulders. "Until 11:00. Co-worker of mine was supposed to do it, but then he got a call. His cousin died."

She frowned at the thought, while I stroke her arm briefly, observing her eyes. "So, I guess midnight, again?"

Nahlah's bright eyes looked at me pausingly, then she said tentatively, "Um . . . I dunno, . . ."

I caught on to the hesitation. I stared with soft, cautious eyes, as if afraid she was too delicate to take my hard stares. "What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

She smiled, shaking her head lightly. "No, everything's fine. I just . . . am not feeling well . . ."

I just continued to stare at her weakly attempted smile, which her eyes betrayed as I read this strange light in them. I squinted in confusion and concern, then crossed my arms and leaned against the bar.

Shaking my head in the attempt to understand, I said, "What . . . this isn't like you, Nahlah. You sure?"

Nahlah faked another smile, relaxing her arms on my shoulders as her hands tangled behind my neck. She kissed me briefly. "I'm fine, Cel. I'm . . . just exhausted."

I gave her another look. My heart felt as though it had its own stomach: nauseated, twisted, burning; an uneasiness crawled up my throat.

Nahlah saw my tentative reaction and instantly kissed me long and holding. Both her hands held my face as she gave a tiny grin. "I'm not cheating on you, don't worry. _Please."_

I looked at her, arms remained folded while she gave me a tilted look. I said, "No, no, of course not. Did I assume anything in the first place?"

I dunno what my tone was, but it sounded snappy and sharp. Nahlah gave me a look of her own, reading my expression, before disengaging her arms from my waist.

Before she could make any judgments, I whispered, "This isn't about the Runner, is it?"

She blurted, "You know how I felt about that. Cel, I dunno why you acted like that!"

Her explosion startled me. I looked at her in uncanny silence. ". . . What are you talking about? I was trying to _protect_ you from getting in trouble."

She sighed, smiling another fake one, which began to irritate me. "Celeste, that had nothing to do with me or you or us. It was about that boy, and the cause he was fighting for."

I sighed, forehead wrinkling as I massaged it. "Don't tell me you're planning on protesting. No, Nahlah. Not in _this_ city—not against those fucking cops."

"I'm not gonna sit back and watch this city and those fucking cops take away _our_ rights," she explained in a saddening tone.

I looked at her distraught expression, as if it was hopelessly hopeful.

"No." I shook my head stringently and matronly. "You have no idea what they could do if you hadn't given up that damn bag, Nahlah. You know the rules. I didn't want you to get involved."

"Our rights, Cel!" repeated Nahlah in emphasis. Her hands held me firmly and protectively by the arms, face leaning close to my face. "Are you forgetting who you are? You're like me, like everyone else in those protests. Do you have any idea how your passiveness encouraged those cops?"

"Nahlah, who knows what they coulda done to you."

"Cel, I was being completely nonviolent. They couldn't have done anything—"

"They pulled out the handcuffs, Nahlah!"

"Hoping to scare me. But I was a bystanding pedestrian. They knew they couldn't do anything, even when I had the bag."

I exhaled with exasperation. "Nahlah—" I began.

_"Celeste,"_ she interrupted, "do you have any idea how submissive and weak you are acting against forces that hate people like us?"

"It's not a frikkin genocide, don't be dramatic," I told her.

"Imagine if I'd done nothing—if anyone in this city had done _nothing_. Callaghan woulda won. He woulda _had_ us. You and I wouldn't _exist_, we wouldn't be together!"

Tears were brimming her luminous eyes. When they fell, I slowly reached to brush them away, but she withdrew from me. Standing a foot apart from me, she folded her arms in frustration, and wiped her eyes as if in shame, looking away from me.

Her words, her tears, her expression, her very sad being hurt me. My heart felt as though it had been stopped and been beat lifelessly; it ached. Speechlessly, I reached out and held her face in my hands, thumbs brushing the trails of tears remaining at the same time.

"I didn't want to lose you to them," I whispered, unsure what to say other than the simple, horrifying truth.

I looked at her nearly just as helplessly, torn. Her eyes skipped all over the floor as if to distract herself, then she slowly peered up at me solemnly. She nodded barely, mouth locked, as she budged an "I know".

I didn't know what else to say. We stood there for about a minute or so, the music in the club the only talker. I looked at her as she glared like a child at the floor in despair and disappointment, then I found myself looking around. I didn't know what to do. What did you do when you were in a fight with a _girl_ who was more than a friend?

My emotions were an unsual mixture of irritation, sadness, and fright. I let them boil until the feeling passed as we stood in the most awkward, painful silence ever.

Unsure of myself, I just looked at her again. She was still staring at the floor, arms folded, countour painful like the ancient face of a decrepit statue. At first, I leaned forward and reluctantly kissed her forehead. However, I realized I had just comforted her, so might as well keep at it. I hugged her close and hard to me. Just feeling her surrender gave me this sense of awe at her as I held her. My emotions melted into a soft, pitiful inflation of warmth in my heart. It reminded me that I shouldn't be upset with her for being upset over a bigger matter: I squeezed as hard as I could to let her know how much letting her go would hurt. I had to let her know I cared, even if meant a simple every-day hug.

Nahlah was sniffling into my shoulder. Her arms finally found my back as she tightened her nails into my back, never wanting to let go. Then, she tilted up and stole me into another kiss, one of many to come and that had passed I would never get tired of.

I've been in relationships where there were love-quarrels, but that was back then when I was your typical teenage girl who sought comfort from the _guy_. I wasn't even sure whether or not to count this as a "love quarrel", but whatever the emotional case, I wasn't sure how to handle it. The best I could do was hug; words were meaningless right now, that's all I knew. With Nahlah being slightly smaller than me, holding her in my arms enraged this sense of dominance and affectionate protectiveness inside me. I held her tighter, never wanting to let go. All I wanted to do was to protect her.

After what could have been five minutes, we parted. I looked into her eyes, chiseling out every sad-tainted detail; bewildered how beautiful she still was when she cried. I stroke her hair, brushed her cheek, held her cheek, looked into her eyes, kissed her—anything to let her know how devoted, loving, and protective I was.

"So . . .?" I whispered after sighing. "I'll see you tomorrow night?"

Nahlah blinked away the last of her tears, wiping them away before giving me a dazed look. "Oh . . . right . . . work?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Want me to bring anything from the grocery store—any CDs, DVDs . . .?"

She smiled adoringly, shaking her head. "Just you. I won't be in the mood. I just want to see you and sit and talk."

"I'm good with that." I smiled.

"Actually." Her face lit up, filling me with relief and reborn joy. "Aren't you sick of my 'box'? Can I come over your place?"

"Sure. Haha, what is this, the next step in our relationship? I dunno if I can take it," I joked, our foreheads locking as we smirked to the stupidity of the idea. "I'm gonna have to clean out the place."

"I don't care," she whispered fondly.

My eyes fluttered over her lovingly. She returned my stare with this uncertain, sad look that it made me look at her querily. Then, I felt her soft palm hold me by the cheek. It was so gentle, almost featherlike and almost as if it weren't there. But I felt it.

Again, I looked at her.

Nahlah whispered, "Celeste . . ."

I gave a raising, waiting look.

Then, Nahlah's eyes lowered as she smiled briefly.

"What?" I demanded softly.

What was she going to say? I _hate_ it when people did that.

The brunette just shook her head, stroke my cheek, then smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I was going to bug her, but held against it. I quietly nodded, but smiled genuinely as we kissed again before I left the club.

--

I remember what track was like back in high school. To make a long story short, I was a _bullet_; I'd done track since eighth grade, even into college. I could pull off 800 sprints and every now and then shifted between long-distance running and sprinting just to build up endurance. That was how Drake found me. Apparently, during the period of the campaign between Pope and Callaghan, he was related to a teacher at my high school. She invited him to watch how impressive our track team was, seeing that her daughter was on my team; Drake saw me, confronted me privately, and offered to employ me. I did it for the money, not for Pope's cause. So, he had Merc train me.

Track was grueling, but worth it in the end. Every time the coach sent us on 400 sprints, I learned to relax my legs by lifting them, and focusing my mind solely on the relaxed glides of my shoulders in their sockets. Each sprint felt slow and demanding, but now that I think about it, each went by fast, making the rest of my evening go fast.

That was _nothing_ compared to my chases after Runner's the next day.

Running itself is easy when you're a Black Neck backed up by comrades. But the chases themselves were bullshit annoying. The only difficulty was identifying the Runner, finding the Runner, and cornering the Runner. I could catch up with ease, but taking down a Runner one-on-one is never really smart. That's why teamwork with Black Necks made such labor easier.

By late afternoon, Loraine sent us off to do whatever the hell we wanted.

Tony asked, "Hey. So, how about us three today? I'm sure you two got over it."

"Nah," I replied as we changed into ordinary clothes. "I tried her earlier this morning to ask for my own appointment. She said she was working at _Soulier_ and said we shouldn't bother her."

"God, busy girl. Well, I guess she won't be massaging us. Damn, she was always nice to us—gah, I don't care—I just wanna a massage. Come along?"

"Nah."

No way in hell I was going to take a massage from anyone but Nahlah. And seeing that she wasn't going to be at _Spa&Soul_, I wouldn't trust myself alone with Tony, even if Seth and Greg were there.

"Missing a massage _again_?" Tony paused, looking at me.

Dammit, where were Ray, Raine, and Pep when I needed them? Oh yeah, they left right away for lunch together. Some other Black Necks offered to take charge of Runner chases today.

"Grab the others or something," I told him harshly. "Or some guy buddies."

"Nah, I love chicks, c'mon, I'm a guy!" he said, grinning.

"No, Tony. I'm not in the mood for a massage." Instead, I planned to see Nahlah at _Soulier_. Maybe I could help her.

Tony hadn't said anything since then. He just looked at me as we finished changing. Yeah, I got used to him seeing me in my lingerie. After all, we were "dating", I guess. As long as he stayed away from me, I didn't mind him nearby whether I was in lingerie or not.

"Celeste," he said from behind. I didn't want to turn around, knowing he'd been watching me like a protective, annoying brother. "This isn't like you. You _love_ massages—isn't that the main reason why you joined Project Icarus?"

That was supposed to be a hidden jeer, but I didn't take it to heart. I remained silent as I slipped on a white tanktop.

"You haven't been to _Spa&Soul_ in a while, either," he added, as if urging me.

"This city has been quiet since the recent arrests of Runners, Tony," I said, standing with my back facing him. "There's no reason to get a message. I'm as relaxed as Loraine, seeing how satisfied she is by Project Icarus' progression. Enjoy your massage, Tony."

I left him before he could protest. I grabbed a taxi, too lazy to drive myself or Tony's car since he was treating me like a spoiled brat and since he was using it to go to his massage.

As I drove my car into town, I noticed the little wooden figurine Nahlah gave me a month ago. It dangled there from the ceiling, bobbing lightly somewhat in the windshield.

I thought about Nahlah's discontentment, something we never ran into for our first month together as a couple. It hurt me, yet confused me.

The wooden figurine floated like those badgering shoulder angels. Finally, a thought clicked: I hadn't given Nahlah a gift yet in return.

_Way to be delayed, Celeste._

What did Nahlah like? My mind squeezed hard into thought; I couldn't mess up on this. I recalled her blatant adoration over clothes. She always had an amazing new streak of fashion every day, always something different and beautiful. I thought about what clothes what look good on her, as well as considering her favorite colors: blue, purple, orange. She liked skirts, V-shirts, fat jeans, and especially earrings. She read a lot, and I remember the Belladonna Lilies.

Flowers?

I snorted to myself, nearly in self-shame. How cliché. What would be special? The definition of "special" irked me more. I didn't know what special was anymore; the only thing special was Nahlah herself.

What did she like about me, I wondered, that she considered "special"?

_Damn. I suck at this._ And I thought girls were easier to gratify.

_Goddammit, what was fucking special!?_

I spent the next hour and a half skimming by stores at New Eden Mall. I shrugged by jewelry stores; everyone had jewelry, what value were they_? Nahlah has plenty of clothes,_ I figured as I passed so many clothes. I considered some chocolates or something, but then again, that was something she could have every day if she wanted.

My frustration got the better of me when another hour passed in the mall. I realized her gift had to be something she couldn't get or didn't have at all. And what the hell was that? Different scenarios of Nahlah's reaction to whatever gift I presented flickered through my head poisonously. My insides cringed in total agony.

"Hell with it," I growled. I went to _Flora's Floras_ and stood there glaring at rows and rows of blinding flowers. I could have sworn I was going to go color-blind sooner or later.

--

I was on my way to _Soulier_, but then Tony homed in on my earpiece, which I nearly forgot about. Sometimes I kept thinking I was hearing voices.

"Cellie," said Tony. He sounded cheery. "Come over to _Spa&Soul_."

I pressed against my comms. "What? Why?"

"I . . . uh," he began. I still heard a smile, only it was soft and hesitant. "I have something for you."

He could hear the hesitant, startled tone in the "oh" I tried to restrain. It was quiet. I was cruel to him, but not that cruel—I couldn't just say, "Fuck you, Tony, l don't care about you or whatever gift you have for me. I wanna see Nahlah".

So, before I could reply, unsure what to say, Tony said softly, "Just come over, Cel. I hope you like it."

He hung up, leaving me in a shocked state. I didn't know why.

I thought about those random, ordinary words Tony said on the earpiece regarding the gift, as I drove to _Spa&Soul_. What drove him into getting something for me? Not to mention his comical remarks have narrowed down to a mininum. Was he really becoming relaxed and lovey-dovey with me? Awe shit.

When I got there, Tony was in the waiting lounge. He welcomed me with this strange softness I've never seen in him, it was almost had this "I'd die for you" look in his eyes. His thick arms swallowed my entire being in a soft embrace—not the bear hug I normally got. He wasn't his goofy self at all.

When we withdrew, he kissed me on the forehead, gazed me in the eyes warmly, then kissed me briefly.

Before I could ask what hell Reagan did to him, he pulled out a rose, an album, and a wooden figurine.

My eyes stretched as a small gasp escaped my lips. I just stared.

"This is album is _Foiled_, by Blue Octor. They have this song called _Congratulations_ that comes in my head every time I think about you," said Tony as I accepted the three gifts speechlessly. "The rose is red. I take it even though you aren't a Runner anymore, you still loved red. And the figurine. I dunno, it was kinda cute, even to me. But I thought about you. You've been looking kinda down, you had me worried. So, yeah. Hope you like?"

My heart wrenced in pang, like when someone twists a piece of cloth dry, when my eyes fell on the same wooden figurine Nahlah gave me. However, affection flooded into my heart like light into a room as I plunged into reminsnence of Nahlah.

Tony awkwardly brushed his hand over his scalp back and forth like usual. "Well," he said nervously, "do you like them . . .?"

"Tony . . ." I began. I didn't know what to say; obscured emotions were tearing me from the inside. ". . . I thought you said it was one gift?"

I smiled gently at Tony's thoughtfulness. He shrugged, grinning, then leaned down and kissed me shortly again on the lips. "I just wanted to . . . prove that there's a gentler side to me."

I looked up at him, looking at the unshadowed features of his face. It seemed cleaner; he shaved more. I saw this strange new light behind now that there was less hair. The lack of competition his facial hair presented made his russet eyes stand out, like warm chocolate milk.

". . . Thanks, Tony. That was . . . kind of you," I murmured, smiling.

He grinned goofily at me. I could tell he was too embarrassed about it, so he decided to hide it like any teenager would by grinning casually as it was no big deal.

I broke his naturally goofy grin by saying, "Hey, I thought you had a massage, like, two hours ago?"

"Nah, I was too preoccupied for a massage," he said, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "Cuz I went to get you these. But I'm making an appointment now, I'm just waiting for Seth and Gregory to be done."

_Goddammit. I'm never acting sullen around him ever again._ I hated it when people I hated showed their soft side. Okay, I admit I didn't hate Tony. It was just his presence was nothing like Nahlah's, which I missed endearingly.

A finger twisted into my cheek again. Reflexively, my hands thrashed out, slapping Tony's hands away. He withdrew his hand with a teasing cackle. "God, you sensitive woman!"

"Tony," I growled, though I was grinning.

His grin softed as he perked my chin up with his hands and kissed me, taking the anger right out of me as I let out a soft gasp. Before I could protest, he made it worse by tickling me at the same time. What a weird guy.

"TONY—!" I began between the kisses he gave me. There was no way I was going to let his charm win me over when I had Nahlah to worry about.

I pushed Tony away. He remained grinning, as if he'd won me from the get-go. "C'mon, let's bug Seth and Greg. Let's have a massage together, you need it."


	29. The Massage II

Chapter 29:

The Massage II

While Seth and Greg went to the main office to see if they could have someone else massage us, Tony and I undressed. I was cautious to kick him out and let me change into the towel while he went to change in the men's bathroom. He joined me in his towel, torso massive and pronounced like chiseled rock as he engulfed me in another kiss.

"God, you're a frikkin _rock_," I grunted, trying to push him away. My hands flew up to the top of my towel to keep it around me. No way in hell was I gonna let him see me without my towel, massage or not.

Tony was back in his jestful mood as he pretended to pull at my towel. I jerked away, a bit irritated, but since he bought me gifts I had to show I was grateful; I didn't bitch as much. Tony poked me in the ribs again, forcing me to retreat to the top of my cushioned platform. That made matters worse when he stood at the edge of my platform, pressed his hand against my back, and crept over me like a lover, stealing my lips again.

"Cel," he said as I tried to pull away, "just say it, we're a couple! We've been going out—from what I know, you _like_ me. C'mon, admit it!"

His nose snuggled against mine, which was really childish and cuddly for a guy like him to do. The strangeness of it pulled a smile at my lips as I giggled at the cute, puppy-like affection. He kissed me again.

The door opened, announcing Seth and Gregory's return. Tony and I turned our heads as Nahlah smiled at us.

_Nahlah?_

Her smile fell at once as she stared at Tony all over me. We ended up staring at each other, my eyes feeling as though they'd pop out of place as my heart felt mutilated. Subconsciously, Tony parted from me, hands leaving my back, lips leaving my lips, eyes peeling off mine as he looked at her just as shocked.

"Oh, sorry—uh, hey," he said awkwardly, giving a short wave.

Nahlah looked at him from me, then turned around. "I'm sorry—" she apologized, about to slip through the door.

"HEY, Nahlah!" I blurted from my seat, the same time Tony said, "Hey, wait."

Nahlah halted reluctantly as if a leash inveigled her. She didn't turn her head however.

Before I could say anything, even though I couldn't think of anything, Tony called to her, "Hey! I thought you were at Soulier—_whatever_, hey, give us a massage?"

Nahlah was acting like a prude or something as she kept her eyes aimed out the doorway. She said, ". . . I'm sorry . . . I only came cuz Seth and Greg called me over to help . . . and because my shift was done . . ."

She began to advance out again, but Tony said as if drunk, "Aweee, c'mon, Nahlah! Don't let Cel and my relationship here make you feel queasy—come and join us. We can have a threesome!"

Of course it was a joke. I slapped him in the back of the head, serious for once that I hurt him. He rubbed his head, complaining at the pain, but still grinning at me.

It all happened so fast. Nahlah was at first gone half-way out the door, but then all of a sudden her lips locked with mine, hands cupping my face fiercely yet passionately. Of course, I was caught completely off guard by this as her lips gently thrust against my face.

Gasping, as if she'd suck all my oxygen, I pushed her away with widened eyes. She stepped back, slightly breathing heavily as she stared at me, face flushed. The color died, though, as she looked from me to Tony.

Tony had been standing in complete shock, eyes widened, jaw dropped, eyes glued to Nahlah.

_ShitshitshitshitshitshitshitSHIT, Nahlah!_

Nahlah placed her hands on her hips as she exhaled, giving Tony this look I couldn't grasp as contempt, jealousy, rage, or a victorious "take that" expression.

"FUCK," declared Tony.

I stared at him, holding my breath still.

Tony still gasped, "FUCK" as he looked from Nahlah to me. He gaped mostly at me, looking me up and down.

_Dammit, he's not seriously . . ._ I thought furiously, averting my eyes from his towel.

Tony gawked back at Nahlah. Then, he burst, "Can you do that again?"

I just goggled at him, speechless. Nahlah had taken the words from my mouth, including my thoughts. I couldn't think except think, _Fuck_.

"It's just a kiss," stated Nahlah nonchalantly.

I stared at her, feeling paralyzed. _How could she say_ that!?

Nahlah shrugged at Tony's bewildered expression. I wished he closed his mouth, now.

"You just _kissed_ her—!" he began.

Well, at least he wasn't throwing a murderous fit.

Nahlah suddenly approached Tony face-to-face, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

WHAT THE HELL!?

I immediately sprung from my seat on my cushioned platform, and pried Nahlah's hands off Tony, nearly shoving her.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" I bellowed.

Nahlah stood there as if unharmed by my malicious physical or vocal intentions.

"Whoa, Cel—!" began Tony.

"Don't you _dare_ kiss him EVER again!" I continued.

Nahlah looked at me, absorbing my words willingly, yet her eyes painfully held my gaze.

"Cel, it's _fine_, it was just a kiss—even I knew that," attempted Tony.

My head turned sharply at him, staring him down coldly. When I turned to glare at Nahlah again in total hurt, she already left.

--

"Damn, that was hot," muttered Tony.

We'd left right after the kissing incident. I told him I was pissed, and he misinterpreted it as jealousy over the fact that he, my "boyfriend", got kissed by another girl. So, feeling bad, he tried to kiss me to woo me, but I pushed him away.

"Heyyy," he began as we approached my car, "don't get so worked up about it. It was just a kiss. She kissed you to please me, then kissed me. And I'm sorry if you were jealous about it, but chill."

Was he _blind_!? Of course he was, that was what I was always hoping.

I couldn't say anything. I just suffered in silence. It felt like heat was going to burst from my insides as I tried to contain the worst emotion in the world: jealousy and absolute hate. Toward Nahlah, toward Tony, toward myself, and toward Nahlah again.

What the fuck was she _thinking_?

I was trembling violently; I didn't notice I hadn't budged from my spot in front of the door to my driver's seat. I had been glaring at the cement, keys trembling in my clutch. Tony stood there next to me, looking at me, for the first time frightened into silence.

"Shit, look, I'm sorry for accepting the kiss, Cel," said Tony, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I thought you were catching on to the fact that she accepted my 'threesome' invitation—"

"Don't you Ever. Say. That. Word. _Again_," I threatened as I nudged his hand off my shoulder violently. I glared into the reflection of my seething self my window displayed.

"Cel, I'M SORRY," pleaded Tony, a hint of annoyance in his tone. "Look, let's go home and talk about this. I can't let you drive in this emotional state. I'm sorry—let me drive your car and leave my car here for Pep and Ray to pick up—"

"NO." I opened my door and started the car.

Let him think I was pissed at him. That's how it should seem—when in all honesty, it was Nahlah. What was _with_ her?

"Where you going?" Tony was knocking rapidly yet cautiously on my window, afraid that I would drive off as well as maybe hit him in the process.

_"Home,"_ I barked through the window, not looking at him. I strapped my seatbelt and drove off.

At my place, I slammed the car door, trying to sort my blood-boiling thoughts as I marched toward the entrance. When I got inside, I tossed my jacket and keys. However, as I glided furiously to my refrigerator to grab a beer, Nahlah was there in my kitchen.

This didn't surprise me. Yesterday we had planned her coming over my place. I had given her the address and everything. She must have taken a taxi. But I didn't want her here. I was hoping to have time to myself so I could figure out what to say to her when she arrived.

Even though I was pissed, my heart ached, rolling with resentment, confusion, and hurt altogether.

_Things were going so well till now._

I looked at her. She returned the look with her own sad, yet frustrated look. Her eyes seem to read what I was feeling. We continued in aching silence.

That was when I spied the small wooden figurine in her hands. It was Tony's, seeing that hers was hanging in my car. She must have seen it amongst the articles of clothing Tony and I left by the door.

"What's this, Cel . . .?" she whispered, twirling the figurine in her hand.

I wouldn't let her start.

"What were _you_ doing?" I demanded, keeping my distance from her: I remained by the counter while she leaned against the refrigerator.

Nahlah looked at me as if _I_ had started the fight, which threw my heart into a whole new level of trepidation. I folded my arms. I could feel my muscles, including the facial ones on my face twisting into fury—yet I begged to understand.

But Nahlah was begging as much understanding from me. She looked at the wooden figurine, admiring its details like lost, forgotten, sad memories.

"This is still about the Runner—or is it about Tony?" I asked. "I can understand if you feel a little jealous about our relationship—"

"So it _is_ a relationship? A genuine relationship?" burst Nahlah, voice cracking.

I was burning again, but I contained it by trying not to move too much. Being expressive with my body language would scare her and that was not what I intended.

"No, that's what I'm trying to get at—don't be jealous, cuz it's not real!" I convinced. "The point was to make it look real, so no one, especially Tony, could suspect _us_, Nahlah!"

Nahlah hugged the figurine to her chest as if it was her heart. "Then . . . what was that I walked in on?"

"Unfortuante timing, that's what," I told her stiffly. Then, I couldn't help but jump down her throat. "What's with you _lying_?"

She looked up at once, as if confused.

"I called you this morning—you said _Soulier_ had you busy and that I shouldn't bother you," I reminded her briskly. "But you arrived at _Spa&Soul_?"

"What were you doing there with Tony in your towels, all over each other?" blurted Nahlah.

"No, NO, I asked the question first—you _answer_, Nahlah," I snapped.

"But first tell me what Tony was doing to you—he was basically _straddling_ you, Celeste!"

"He wasn't—you know how he is—you'd think I really fell for him?"

"I dunno, you tell me!"

I glared at Nahlah in thought to her harsh accusation.

"I dunno, tell me, what's with the gifts?"

She was being ridiculously delusional again. I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, does it hurt to accept someone's gift?"

"NO, but, I dunno—he gave you the same gift I gave you—that bugs me," she emphasized, raising the figurine up, shaking it to prove her point.

"It's not his fault. He doesn't know you got the same thing for me."

"But still!" Nahlah walked over to me, a movement that sent a thorny feeling throughout me. She took my hand and forced the figurine into my palm, closing my hand over it. ". . . It matters to me. Because this little figurine—this little cheap, home-made piece of driftwood, is between us."

I looked at her, then at her hand holding mine, irritation biting and crawling on my skin like ticks. Nahlah squeezed my hand, her warmth eventually cascading into my flesh. I felt her. I felt the heat of anger and agony through the touch of our skin. It swelled my heart as first, but then, my heart melted into an overwhelming feeling.

I felt my nose running, my eyes burning. I blinked out tears as I looked down at her hand and her dejected facial details.

"Celeste . . ." she whispered.

"Why'd you kiss him?" I cracked. That was the thing that really pushed it.

"I'm sorry . . . I was jealous," she whispered, squeezing my hand. "I know I pissed you off. But . . . I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something to get your attention."

"I thought you wanted me to stay _away_," I whispered, afraid to speak any more, knowing at any moment I break up in front of her.

Nahlah looked at me, tears brimming her bright eyes. "Cel . . ."

"You were acting as though I upset you."

"No," she told me firmly. At first she was tentative to reach up to touch my cheek, but she slowly held my face with her usual caress. "Cel . . . I'm sorry for scaring you. It was just, you know, the Runner. The cause he fought for. Everything. He was fighting for _us_—and seeing that you didn't fight for him in return, it upset me. And I know you already knew that, but still—it hurt me."

I didn't want to bring up her gift, but I did anyway, hoping it conveyed how much she was on my mind. ". . . I couldn't think of what to buy you."

Nahlah looked at me quizzically. "No, Cel . . ."

"I was frustrated." I frowned at myself and my failed attempts. "I didn't know what to get you. I had to buy you something, though—but I couldn't. I didn't."

I broke from her, glaring out the kitchen window, gripping the figurine. "I've never had this kind of relationship before . . . I wanted so hard to figure out how to show you how much I was worried. How much you came up on my mind. I didn't know what to buy, though, and that pisses me off."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Celeste," consoled Nahlah, but I cut her off.

"—So I was went to _Soulier_ hopefully to ask what you liked," I explained, glaring into space, "but then Tony called me over to the spa because he urgently wanted to give me something. It frustrated me; he knew _exactly_ what to get me. He actually made me smile. But I was killing myself cuz I failed to think of something to get you, to show that you were all that I thought about—"

"Celeste." Her tone was demanding, so I snapped back to reality to look into her blue orbs. Her lips trembled as she budged a strong smile. "Thank you. But no, the thought was enough."

"No it wasn't."

"Cel," she whispered, reaching for me.

"I never intended to hurt you," I said, sniffling. "I can't imagine ever hurting you."

"It's okay," whispered Nahlah, holding my teary gaze. ". . . I'm sorry for kissing Tony."

"It's fine. It worked," I said, smiling a bit.

Nahlah's frown worsened when I attempted the joke. Her lips trembled as she said, "No, I'm really, _really_ am sorry, Cel. I regret kissing him like that in front of you."

I shook my head as if to shake her words away, but she refused to accept my kindness. When I spoke to console her, she backed away, turning around. I saw her hand reach to her mouth and cover it as she tried to plug in a whimper or sob. Her shoulders quaked. I took a step to console her, trying to strictly remind her that the last thing I wanted was her crying.

Nahlah fled slowly down the hallway toward my bedroom, which I assumed she have scoped out while waiting for me. I watched after her, bemused, dead in my tracks. She was like a walking ghost fading into my past. My tears died on me as a yearning stitched itself inside my heart.

When I saw Nahlah reach the door of my bedroom, her hand stroke the doorframe as if examining it, as if looking for my trademark there. Her back remained facing me.

Then, she wordlessly looked over her shoulders at me, as if beckoning. I couldn't tell. I looked deeper into the souls of her eyes, wondering what she was trying to convey. Her eyes looked emotionally weary, but replaced by a new blossom of light.

If we were at Nahlah's with her iPod stereo blasting, I woulda had Idena Mendez's _If I Told You_ playing.

I found myself slowly following Nahlah, enthralled by her soft, cautious, marveling movements. She remained standing there at the doorframe, as if waiting for me.

Wordlessly, my eyes chiseled out the outline of her beautiful curves before settling her wooden figurine on the kitchen counter. In a mesmerized daze, I caught up with her into my bedroom. I could feel our time coming up, gentle, slow, colorful, alive.

--

Our lips remained fitted like perfect puzzle pieces as I hovered over Nahlah. We both nimbly slipped each other's shirts off. Our lips finally parted. Nahlah let out a dreamy gasp as my mouth climbed down to her neck. I kissed over and over in that one spot as my fingers fumbled for her bra strap. She accepted my moist lips as I explored her rather expressive breasts. Feeling and tasting her skin after such a long time sent a strike of fiery lust through my excited heart.

I wanted her.

Nahlah sighs were faded and distant as I switched between her lips, neck, and breasts. My hand glided across her flat stomach, sometimes tempted to go down further, but Nahlah kept my lips occupied with hers. She arched her back slightly as my lips eventually wandered down the vast planes of her stomach.

I raised my head questioningly to Nahlah as we took a breather. She didn't look back; her eyes remained closed as her head rested on the sheets. She just waited. I didn't waste time as she helped kick her jeans off while I tore them off. My mouth went back up to her breasts, then to her collarbone, and her lips again. While I searched up and down her soft, flawless arms, my hand snaked down under her lingerie. I felt around while she gave out a shuddering breath. I halted that breath with my mouth again, this time tongue greeting hers.

Before I could claim all her being, Nahlah pushed up against me. I was startled, but she answered by keeping my lips occupied. She had us both sit up as we finished stripping me of clothes and lingerie, then went back to kissing. However, she wanted some fun as she pushed me eagerly against the wall. A hand grabbed my breast while her other hand stroke my neck and back; her lips claimed the planes of my face, my jawline, my throat, my stomach. I surrendered as she latched my wrists against the wall with her strong grip. Once in a while she let my arms move free as I hugged her close to me. Nahlah's entire being suffocating me against the wall, while her hand stroke my ass and felt further down. She swallowed my breaking gasps with her endless, slow, searching kiss. I felt her strong quads as we thrust our lips against each other, yet fluidly.

"We have all the time in the world, Cel," she reminded me as she felt my back, kissing me.

We had too much time. It was so beautiful and long, I grew tired of the wall, gently pushing her slowly down back onto her back. She accepted my long trail of kisses smearing down her stomach. Before I could claim her fully again, she sat up, bent over, and grabbed my face, kissing me again.

We broke apart, breathing. Nahlah looked at my eyes triggered with desire, and whispered, "Are you sure?"

I didn't answer her as I kissed her. Then, I silently descended gracefully, tasting everything. According to the movement of the mattress, I could feel Nahlah's wringing hands gripping the sheet as I tasted wet softness. My heart fluttered violently as her soft moans and whimpers became gasps and light outcries. Something crashed to the floor, but didn't break. I figured it was my clock; I didn't care, as I teased her. The sheets sounded off slight friction as Nahlah squirmed slightly, arms and hands reaching for anything to grip to death.

Several minutes later, Nahlah's pants quiet down. I hovered over her, our chests cushioning each other as I bent down and kissed her around the throat again. I was giving her time to breathe. However, she picked up my head from her throat and kissed me urgently, as if wanting more. This surprised me, taking a gasp out of me.

It didn't take her long to pin me on my back. Her lips traced my lips as we remained locked, legs entangled. Ten minutes later Nahlah's mouth yearned for my inner being. Her hands massaged my thighs and stomach as she descended, censoring time, stopping time, erasing time from my thoughts.


	30. Between Two Worlds

Chapter 30:

Between Two Worlds

"We should fight more often," suggested Nahlah.

I looked at her before chuckling. "Hell no."

"I'm serious."

I looked at her as we lay in bed, then rolled my eyes. I stroke her face as we stared across from each other, nose-to-nose. Grabbing a ring of her hair, I played with it. She took my hand and kissed it affectionately. Then, her lips snuck down my wrist. I jerked away playfully.

"That tickles," I said.

Nahlah remarked crisply, "So you have another ticklish spot? Has Tony found that?"

I glared at her, then flicked her in the forehead. She gave out a surprised squeal, rubbed her forehead, and looked at me in bewilderment. I gave her another serious look before drawing in and kissing her.

"I'm sick of hearing about him," I told her.

"Me, too," she agreed, frowning.

I held her by the chin, forcing her to stare into my eyes. "I don't ever wanna catch you kissing him again. Stay away from him."

"Wow, Cel, how territorial of you."

"I'm serious."

Nahlah frowned, then propped up onto her side, supported by her elbow with her cheek resting against her hand. "What's wrong now, Celeste?"

I looked up at her, yearning, agonizing from the fathoms of my heart. "I wish we could . . . go beyond that."

She looked at me in a thoughtful pause.

"I wanna be part of you," I whispered, nearly in embarrassment to my cheesy, yet genuine words.

Nahlah smiled, tracing the arch of my back with her soft caress. "I guess that's what makes love worth keeping at."

I settled into her eyes. We laid there in silence once more. I enjoyed the messiness of her wavy hair, and the amazing shade of bronze the slant of light from the closed shades printed all over her naked form.

"I didn't mind fighting," blurted Nahlah. I looked at her scornfully but with love and patience, listening. "As long as I'm with you, whether arguing, laughing, or dying, I'm content."

I sighed, surrendering to her philosophy of perfect love.

"Tired?" she asked, smirking.

I blushed, aiming to flick her in the forehead again, but she defensively poked me in the stomach. I poked her back, then grabbed her ass, making her squeal ticklishly. Then, I pressed against her, squeezing her close to me as we engulfed in each other's breath.

"God, what time is it?" I asked.

In a cute manner, Nahlah balanced off the edge clumsily to turn over the clock she knocked off. "Hm—wow, it's only nine!"

"What the fuck?" I burst, leaning over her as well as on her to see for myself.

"Celeste—!"

My weight dragged us both off the edge. I tumbled over her, bringing the sheets with us. We laughed as we recovered from the depths of white currents. Then, with the sheets, I roped Nahlah back into me as I kissed her.

We parted, as I said, "Dammit, I can't believe we did that at—what?—two hours ago."

"Was that really two hours?" Even Nahlah seemed impressed.

I looked at her with a hidden sneer. "What? You never made it past an hour?"

"Shut up first-timer," she gasped, reaching up and thrusting a pillow against me.

"Two hours, wow."

"Ugh, beginner's luck."

I blushed this time to her comment and retaliated with the same pillow thrown against her face. She hugged it to absorb the impact, then peeked over it. I smiled at her fondly, captivated by the simple sight.

Nahlah giggled, then sighed in defeat. "Well, I'm starving."

"I suck at cooking. Want me to order pizza or something?"

"As long as you can feed me."

We got up reluctantly. Before I could wrap the sheets around me entirely like royal garments, Nahlah pulled me back down and tackled me with another divine kiss.

"I don't want tonight to end," she whispered.

I broke from her, smiling. "We have all the time in the world. We can do it again tonight after I take a shower."

She blinked, as if I had broken the rules. "What? Again, tonight?"

I snorted. "Don't tell me chicks have rules."

"No, no, it's just. Hm."

"We'll go back to bed after my shower." I got up again while she admiringly watched after me.

"Shower together?" she suggested.

I paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Huh. I dunno, doing it in the shower can hurt. The water will sting my eyes."

She laughed. "No, we won't _do_ it in the shower—afterwards, like we agreed."

I grinned and left to call for some pizza.

--

_"She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage…"_ (Chopin 61). The Awakening.

"Are you almost done with this thing?" I asked Nahlah, flipping through the pages of _The Awakening._

We were both at her box. Yeah, it was silly and a waste of time to switch our setting, but I really didn't like my place. It was nothing compared to her great craft of architecture as displayed in her box. Nahlah's presented a fun, relaxing, and casual mood to resist. Besides, I didn't want to risk any of my Black Neck comrades walking in on us, seeing they knew where I lived now. But they still didn't know about Nahlah's place.

Plus, her shower was small. But, the smaller, the better, and the closer we were. Our bodies clung to each other while the water rained upon us in hot steam. Once in a while we spoke or laughed and teased each other. Otherwise, we peacefully got carried away into our misty bliss as we applied shampoo and soap.

Sometimes I couldn't help squint through the pressuring water just to simply watch her. Her movements were casual, but graceful at the same time. She was so ordinary, but so beautiful and perfect to me. Her hair became flat and skinny as it soaked the water. Foams of soap kissed her skin like dimunitive, faded clouds. Her hands mesmerized me as they squeezed her hair like a rope of clothing.

Some soap got caught on her face, to which I nearly chuckled aloud. I told her to close her eyes while I wiped them off, then planted a wet kiss on her lips, which smelled of shower. Our voices echoed as we laughed and exchanged random comments, making it sound as though we were trapped in a dreamy chamber.

We got out longer than we anticipated for a typical shower. We considered dressing, then decided against it and returned to our lingerie. Then, Nahlah had to remind us that she had neighbors who could see through the one long windowed side of her box, so we mindfully wore bathrobes.

The music was blasted on shuffle on her iPod stereo by the time the pizza delivery boy arrived. Next, we sat down on the sofa, ate, chatted, and listened to our music. Her box became the only dimension of reality to me. I forgot about Project Icarus, about Tony, about the Mirror's Edge. It was once all about the whole world, the blue sky, the reflection that stared back, and that second of death every time I jumped edges. But now everything closed in on Nahlah. It was hard to believe I was out there Running and getting myself killed as I sat here across from the most gorgeous invention of a lover's dream. I couldn't believe I nearly missed out on this.

At midnight we entered the hour of etscasy that lasted more than hour."All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered" around our intertwined forms, blanketing us into eternal, black sublime. There was no borderline, no Edge. It was either Nahlah, or no Nahlah, but never in between.

--

"Cel, Celeste—CELESTE!"

My eyes shot open as something hit me. It was soft and harmless, making me groan and roll onto my side, hugging a pillow. Next to me, Nahlah pulverized me again with her pillow.

"Wake _up_—you'll be late for work!" she declared. "It's 7:30, you have a half an hour to get going—"

"I don't care," I groaned barely. Wow, she knew how to be annoying; I frowned in my sleep as I tried to ignore her. "Goddammit, I thought you said we had all the time in the world."

"Seriously, Cel. Get to work. You can sleep when you come back." I felt her ticklish hair tumble like light yarn all over me. She was probably hovering over me, to which I didn't bother to open my eyes and see. Her voice was next to my ear as she sounded as though she was smiling.

"You are _stubborn_ in bed."

That triggered a grin as I replied perversely, "I know."

There was a silence of shock. Then she burst sheepishly, "I _meant_ as a sleeper."

"I know."

"You shouldn't be around Tony as much, anymore."

"I know."

"You're gonna be late—"

"I know," I grumbled somnently.

"Seriously, Cel—should I start setting the alarm clock. You haven't done that every time you were here." This time, a sudden indentation twisted into into my cheek. Using my ticklish weakness against me was a bad move. I instantly burst from my sleepy state and sent her on her back in seconds. I weighed her against the mattress, hovering over her with an awakened grin, hands pressed against the mattress on either side of her heads dominantly.

"I guess I'm the kind of person that just can't wake up from an alarm clock," I said almost in an amusing, half-dazed tone. "The noise of it will wake me up, but once my eyes open, it's like the clock stops being something that's supposed to wake me up. It just becomes some loud, annoying _thing_. That's why I have to get you to wake me up gently. _Gently_, ok?"

Nahlah looked up at me the entire time, listening intently yet with childish amusement. Then, she smirked. "Um, _how_ old are you again?"

I grabbed a pillow and smothered her face as she laughed and gasped behind it. After I removed it, she and I laughed while she kissed me. "How _do_ you wake up for work at your house with no one there to help you up?"

"Well, that's where you come in," I said.

"Celeste, you can get off me now."

"I thought you liked it."

She rolled her eyes speechlessly, then gently slid out from underneath me. "Go to work, Cel. I got work, too, eventually."

"Put something up-beat on the iPod?" I requested as we grudgedly dragged out of bed.

"Actually, I have a perfect song. It's, ya know, ultra-something-years-old, and sounds something some punk teenager would listen to—but hey, we're still young." Nahlah strode toward the iPod stereo that had been playing soft music over the night. While I splashed water on my face, I heard her burst a song a few years old:

Avril Lavigne's _Girlfriend_. It nearly made me burst out laughing as she blasted it. _I_ love _music_!

Then, I saw her dance by the bathroom. I peeped my head out of the bathroom, watching her, caught by surprised. I understood her being that cute slow-dancer, but a crazy, silly, relaxed dancer—I haven't seen that side of her. It made me smile fondly, while at the same time stare with disbelief.

Was this kind of life—living with your girlfriend while your other life was hunting down human beings—one would call "normal"? Or was it the "nothing's normal" kind of normal? It was an amusing thought as I watched Nahlah's hips bob casually as she slipped on some clothes in _our_ bedroom.

_Ah, fuck my house. I'll just sell it._

_Girlfriend_ was still playing by the time I quickly cruised through breakfast and walked out the door. Nahlah joined me by the door since she was on her way out too for work. She was still kind of dancing, hips swaying in correspondence to the addicting beats and bass of the song. I looked at her in bewilderment; I couldn't help but grin.

"I've never seen you like this," I stated, folding my arms thoughtfully, eyes catching every little jerk of her dance movements.

She stopped, smiling sheepishly as if she'd come off from a stage performance. "Why do you think you're seeing it now?"

I didn't need to answer: Because of me, of course. I didn't blame her. Rolling my eyes, I leaned in and kissed her, then slipped out of the door. Before I could, however, Nahlah stopped me.

"Hey, I was thinking . . ." She leaned against the doorframe as she tried to gather her words. I looked at her curiously. ". . . Mexico, some time? Like, this weekend?"

My eyes widened seconds later after the suggestion anchored. A smile fluttered across my lips as I beamed at her. "That would be _great_. Let's get outta this fucking city."

I literally meant it, too. Screw "Shard City". _For all I cared, let's just fucking move out and live on the Mexican coast or something._

"Hey . . ." added Nahlah before I could leave again. I looked at her, itching with wonder.

"What is it?" I said after her minute-pause. It appeared . . . nervous.

Finally, Nahlah looked up at me and said, "When are you . . . gonna 'break' up with Tony?"

"Never."

She looked at me, but I added with a grin, "Cuz I was never going out with him. I thought you knew that, Nahlah."

"Yeah, but . . . you should break up with him before he thinks it's time to take it to the next level in your relationship. We can't afford to keep leading him on like that. Sooner or later he'll attach himself to you, and we won't be able to see each other without risking him finding out about us. Not to mention it won't hurt as much the less we wait to call it off."

I sighed, smiling. I felt as though a burden was getting lifted off my mind. "Yeah . . . ya know what, I think I'll break it off today. At work. I'll tell him we're done."

"And what are you gonna do when he bawls and prods and asks questions?" Nahlah felt nervous for me, it appeared. "I'm afraid he'll hurt you in anger or total sobbing."

"The only one getting hurt is Tony. I never really cared about him."

Nahlah blinked, stared, and observed me with this different light in her eyes. "Just like that? You really didn't care about him?"

"He's a good buddy. Definitely entertaining. He's the one I can rely on the most when my co-workers are being asses," I said, shrugging. "But not worth it. Don't worry, Nahlah. You and I have been a couple long before he asked me out."

Her face seemed lit, yet unsure as she accepted my kiss. I waved to her as she hid in her doorway, and got into my car. However, before I could even drive out of her neighborood, Nahlah honked her horn from behind me. Then she suddenly pulled up next to me on the two-lane road, waved at me with an adventurous grin, and sped ahead of me. She left me in gaping disbelief, but a smile took over.

Beside from seeing Tony since we were—I guess—a couple, I saw Loraine, Pepper, and Reagan, whom I haven't really been with for a while. Pursuits for Runners in the past month have split us up into separate PK units, which were branched throughout the whole city, taking over like poison ivy. It didn't take long for the public to know the identification and purpose behind the black silhouettes roof-hopping over their heads. Portests broke out again in the name of saving their Runners.

"It's been a while," said Pepper, smiling broadly as we slipped our suits on. "Another day. Hey, how about we all hang out today after work?"

"All of us?" interrupted Reagan, pausing mid-way in putting her attire on. She lifted a threatening eyebrow at us.

"What, you got guys to screw?" joked Tony.

Reagan glared. "No, I just, don't feel like being anywhere near you."

"You pissed or something?" jabbed Tony, looking all defensive.

"I just said, at you," insulted Reagan.

"C'mon, guys, let's stop and get going. The faster we run, the sooner we're off duty," urged Loraine.

The boss turned to me and smiled, holding her mask. "Heyyy, Cel. It's been a while."

"Hey." I smiled.

"WHOA, she just smiled!" exclaimed Reagan sarcastically. Automatically, Tony and Pepper joined her side as the three of them gawked at me.

I glared. "Cut it out."

"Whup, false alarm," joked Tony the moment I glared at him.

"Hm," joined Loraine, analyzing me as she folded her arms. She tilted her head, eyes piercing me with this eerie glint.

"What?" I glared again.

"There's this . . . different look in ya," she said slowly and studiously. "Something's different . . ."

"That's because wer'e getting married!" exaggerated Tony, falling on to one knee and pretending to propose, only he didn't realize it was to Reagan.

The brunette glared down at him with vexation, crossed her arms, and said monotonously, "Oh, how soon of you, Tony."

Pepper and I chuckled, while Loraine remained undisturbed by the side-scenerio. She looked at me, I glared at her, then she dropped it as she clapped her hands to assemble our fellow Black Necks. From there, she outlined the day's duties. It was the same thing: patrol the city for Runners, chase them, and take them down.

"However, Cel, Tony." Loraine turned to us rigorously. "You're on night shift duty. Though Runners have been scurrying at night times in the past, it's still essential that we get any tonight. And you two are a good team together, Cel being the ex-Runner and Tony being the dedicated rock."

"Rock?" began Tony, but I elbowed him.

"You two will be on duty until noon today," continued Loraine. "I'll join you at some point. Then, the girls and I will meet ya later on today in the evening for a meal or something. Then you go back to work on the rooftops. Oh, and Cel, you don't mind training some of these Black Necks before you leave for the evening?"

I gave an exaggerated exhale, saying nothing. Loraine took it as an agreement, though, then sent everyone out.


	31. Night Shift

Chapter 31:

Night Shift

Some PK units teamed with the SWAT team on the choppers, who were still on the search for the Connor sisters. My mind irrelevantly thought back to Faith, then swept aside the figments as today's duty started.

It was only one Runner we caught, though. What a boring day; it made the day go by slower since we couldn't tell whether or not to anticipate a Runner. Not to mention my mind wavered over to my night with Nahlah. The transition from my utopian world with Nahlah to this world of Black Necks was hard to adjust to. Tony and Pepper noticed it and bugged me about it, but gave up when I didn't respond, something they were used to. Finally, however, Loraine sent me to the PK training grounds with a group of unidentified Black Necks. Pepper came along, just in case I needed help coaching the units. We finished training an hour and a half later, then went out and ate in the park with Reagan, Loraine, and Tony. Tony enjoyed his moments of bringing he and I up in our conversations, making Reagan bitch even more, as well as giving Loraine and Pepper an excuse to look at me secretively on a daily basis.

At the end of our early evening meal, however, I found myself laughing at the sight of the spar Tony accepted from Reagan. She took him down, which wasn't surprising: Tony's haughtiness got in the way, specifically for my sake since I was watching eagerly to see if he really could take Reagan or not. However, by the last round, Tony won, catching Ray by surprise: when she punched at him, he grabbed at the underside of her forearm, grabbed it, and pushed her arm all the way with his other hand to the point it was bending tightly over her shoulder irregularily. This prevented her from being able to move her arm at all, leaving her front completely vulnerable.

"Simple, but sly—SUPASLY," joked Tony.

"You're such a child," commented Pepper, rolling her eyes maturely.

"It's supa_fly_, dumbass," growled Reagan when he released her. When he turned his back, she wouldn't let go of her dignity as she gave a simple karate-chop on the side of his neck. He crumbled automatically to the ground.

"OWREAGAN!" He held his neck. "Gak—dammit, woman!"

"You're gonna let _this_ guy guard on night shift?" said Reagan, eyes blaming him silently as she looked up at Loraine.

The boss chuckled. "Wow. I dunno."

"Well, it was nice and everything. But later." I turned and started walking off. My quick action surprised everyone, who called after me. Tony jogged up next to me.

"We still have an hour and a half left till our shift, Cellie," he said.

_I'm sick of that pet name._

"I want time to myself, though," I said, shrugging casually, hoping he, as the respectful, thoughtful boyfriend, would understand.

Tony held my hand gently and tugged me to stop. "Heyyy, but last night, you were angry and upset . . . remember, about that kiss, and the Runners, and everything?"

"Yes. That's what time to oneself does: it calms you down. Now I want that time." I gently tugged and kept walking.

"But, we only saw each other for a few hours today, minus duty," protested Tony, trotting up with me.

The others eventually joined us, walking behind with that eerie observation of silence. I could feel it, and I didn't want to deal with it. I quickened my pace.

"Cellie, you're my girlfriend. It bothers me when you stalk off like that," said Tony, walking hastily next to me. "Could you slow down? Stop and talk like a human being. I'm not a rapist. Slow down, Cel!"

I stopped, looking at him impatiently. I was hoping to use this last hour and half of freedom to go tell Nahlah work was dragging me late. Besides, since night patrol was somewhat risky for a Black Neck versus stealthy Runners, I didn't want to risk not seeing her again in case something were to happen to me. The very thought already scared me as I suddenly broke past Tony before he could speak.

"CELESTE!" he called.

It was the indignant, fiery tone in his voice that made me stop. Oh boy, he was pissed. I hated it even more when he was pissed. It was something rare, but I remembered how he could be, like when he first brought me down before introducing Project Icarus to me.

I turned. He approached me, as if with determination, yet with quaking frustration. His face was twisted as he gave me a look I didn't like.

"What the hell's going on, Cel?" he snapped, voice guttural. Soft, brown eyes darkened into an angry, narrow, rich mud shade.

I looked at him, unsure how to placate him. But it irritated me at the same time, that feeling a teenager would harbor when parents were yelling for unfair, stupid reasons.

"Whoa, calm down," I said defensively, staring him nose-to-nose. "You're not becoming all territorial, are you?"

"No, but it bugs me when you run off just like that, as if we don't matter," he said. He gestured to the girls a few yards behind us. "They're your friends. They hadn't seen you in a while aside from duty. Show some consideration."

"Yeah, but apparently, you're not pissed at that." I folded my arms.

There was this eerie, new rage on Tony's face. The way he looked at me made me look back in total wonder, yet fear at the same time. I had a feeling something was bothering him. Then, gradually and reluctantly, I pulled a fake smile as I leaned up and kissed him quickly. I put my hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, it's not another guy, don't worry," I murmured, smiling. "You've been great to me, Tony . . ."

"Eek, they kissed," joked Reagan sarcastically from behind. Loraine hushed her, while Pepper silently analyzed me, mostly.

"Yeah, but where's my reward? Where's my share of goodness?" he muttered, still glaring into thought though it appeared he was glaring at me.

I didn't want to deal with this possessive side of him. It irritated me. I sighed, kissed him again, and smiled thinly. "I'll see ya tonight."

"Can we do something after tonight's duty?" murmured Tony, as if he'd given up. He still had this pout, though. He turned to Loraine. "How late will the shift be, Moss?"

"I'd give it at least three hours, staring at nine, that good?" answered Loraine. Her eyes shifted me, though, as if she couldn't focus on Tony or anything else.

"Duty is never 'good', but that's fine, I guess," said Tony. He looked at me mutitvely. "So . . . Eleven? Grab something at the bar or something?"

I kissed him two more times. "Sure."

My smile faded as his eyes clinged to me poisonously. "Don't do that."

"What am I doing?"

"You're kissing me."

I gave a crossed look before he explained angrily, "You never do that when you're happy. Now you do it to patronize me."

I tried not to roll my eyes. In all honesty, I wasn't that good at lying. My eyes lowered as I tried to think this out, trying to sincerely be honest with my feelings toward him without giving away that I was seeing Nahlah.

"Tony . . ." I began.

Tony looked at me, eyes springing with this eratic energy.

". . . I dunno . . ." I began, trying to figure out how to say this. I dismissed my hands from his broad shoulders.

"What?" he demanded, as if anticipating something, but frightened at the same time.

_Shit . . ._

Before I could say anything, Loraine demanded, "Get going so you return on time."

I looked at Tony, who held my gaze silently as trying to read—or at least trying to understand an answer he thought he already knew—my expression. I smiled faintly but genuinely before kissing his cheek, then turned, waved good-bye to him and our comrades, and drove toward Nahlah.

--

"So you were gonna tell him, but you didn't?" pressed Nahlah, sitting next to me.

I didn't like how she was looking at me, as if accusing hidden feelings in me.

I sighed. "No, it's not as if I didn't—my boss shooed me away. So, I decided to save it when no one was watching. If my co-workers witnessed it, it would make me feel worse, not to mention it would make me look like the bitch."

Nahlah rubbed my arm lightly before withdrawing it. She looked into space reflectively, as if figuring out a strategy to our Tony situation. "Just tell him," she finally murmured. "It will hurt at first, but you'll be _free_."

"I dunno." I folded my hands.

Nahlah looked at me. I saw her eyebrows knit painfully together as she frowned, looking at the floor, which was slightly littered with my belongings I brought, along with our recently purchased albums and clothes (god, how empty my house was).

"Celeste . . . you don't . . . pity him, do you?"

"And by pity, you accuse I have feelings for him?" I snapped quietly, turning to her to hold her gaze seriously.

Nahlah seemed to flinch at my words as she coerced to look at me.

"Wow, both of you . . ." I muttered weakly, ". . . are _so_ . . ."

"What? _Both_ of us? What do I have in common with _him_?" she whispered.

"So . . . protective. Jealous. Territorial. Possessive, any synonyms," I returned softly, yet hoping to convey my message.

Nahlah looked at me quietly. I added before my words affected her the wrong way, "Nahlah . . . you fear so much. That you'll lose me. You won't. You can't, cuz _I_ can't let go of you."

The brunette was still quiet. I continued, frustrated. "All I could focus on, while he tried to talk me into staying at the park, was getting to you and telling you we couldn't see each other tonight."

Nahlah smiled as if touched. She then asked, "But you end at eleven, right? So, you can still come over? Midnight, like always."

I rolled my eyes. "How cliché. But yeah, I'll hang with Tony until midnight."

Without thought, Nahlah leaned in and kissed me long and passionately. "Okay," she whispered, smiling. "I'll see ya."

--

When our night patrol was up, Tony offered we take his car to a bar, seeing that I ran to meet him on the rooftops near PK properties. We changed at HQs, then headed off for any bar we came across. He recommended the _Late Night Havana_ bar. The title interested me, so I went along with the suggestion. There, I made sure we didn't drink too much in case Tony decided it was the night we brought it to the bed. However, I jokingly reconsidered that, scheming that maybe I could drop something into his drink, get him drunk, and slip away to Nahlah's.

"Tony, it's 11:45," I said, checking the clock above the bar. "I'm tired. Take me home."

"Sure," slurred Tony, grinning. He kissed me, which I had to endure despite the nasty brand of wine he chose to drink.

We paid, left, and drove on our way to my house. That was when Tony made an unfamiliar turn. The roads got stranger and more remote as we cruised along.

"What's going on?" I asked, looking at him curiously and innocently.

Tony sighed. "While you changed, Loraine called on my earpiece. Said she had an emergency errand for us to do."

"How come I didn't hear it on my—oh wait, yeah, I tossed mine the moment we left night patrol." I chuckled.

Tony grinned along, agreeing. "Yeah. So, anyway, Loraine said something about checking out another harbor. The government is bringing in some bombs, grenades, and such."

"What?" I goggled at him as he drove on.

"I dunno," he said, shrugging. "Whatever. All we gotta do is guard the men loading the goods and stuff: crates full of canisters, explosives, TNT, grenades."

"What are they gonna do, blow Runners out of their hideouts?" I guessed sarcastically.

"I dunno. We're Black Necks, I know, but even _we_ don't reduce ourselves to nuclear maniacs," scoffed Tony. "Maybe it isn't for the CPF . . .?"

We reached a darkly remote area, where the wired gates were opened slowly and majesticly for us. Patrol cops guarded the place heavily. Three cranes loaded crates, men hollering and signaling to each other.

Before we got out of the car, Tony leaned over and kissed me. I pushed him away goofily. Then, we got out. I followed Tony silently, observing my surroundings and the dim lighting of the place's security. Two men approached Tony and I and gave us taser guns as well as pistols, apparently ordered by Loraine.

"So, how long do we do this? I wanna go home," I complained restlessly. "How do they expect us to be on alert when we're tired?"

"Emergency calls," said Tony firmly, taking it serious. "Moss' orders. It shouldn't be that long. Moss knew you would be tired—otherwise she would have told you to get a nice nap before going back out."

We kept walking deeper into the maze of the crates. The heavy shadows stalked us, branching out or lingering over us massively like cautious black snakes. I didn't really notice them, seeing how familiar I was with them since I used to stalk them as a Runner.

Three minutes before reaching our guard post, Tony hissed, "Keep your guard up, Cel, don't lower your gun."

I raised my gun. I looked at his back as he walked ahead of me. "You make it sound as though we're expecting someone."

"Runners like to cut off our ammo, remember? Like what Faith did when you last saw her."

"Is this about Faith?" I questioned suddenly before I realized I was thinking about it.

"No. This is about heavy duty, Cel. Now follow me. We'll stand watch."

We reached a clearing behind the first building and its crates. The cement below me softened into soil as I realized we were in the backyard. A few crates stood silently like haunched, sleeping beasts in the dim light.

And then Nahlah stepped out.


	32. Before the Dawn

Chapter 32:

Before the Dawn

It was so sudden and unexpected; I just stared with wide eyes. Before I could burst out, it took me a second to realize a man was behind her.

A Black Neck restrained her hands behind her back. Then, he pushed her forward, sending her stumbling a bit, and aimed a gun at the back of her head.

"What the hell—NAHLAH!" I cried out, charging forward.

That was when I heard a loud click.

"Stop there, Cel."

I faltered, my heart rupturing into violent flutters like the struggles of a bird trying to break free from a net. A sudden surge of fear, confusion, and hatred ripped through my chest as I slowly turned my head.

But Tony barked, "Don't. Move."

I heard his footsteps as he slowly stepped around me. By the time he stood in front of me, I saw his taser gun aimed at me.

"What the _hell_, Tony!?" I roared, still slowly absorbing all that suddenly happened.

I couldn't focus on the utter hatred that burned from Tony's eyes on me, as I only looked forward at Nahlah.

My beloved Nahlah.

She was trembling, though she tried to hide it. Her lips quivered; her eyes seemed to shake with this heart-tearing fright and helplessness it triggered loathing toward Tony inside me. Nahlah's bright eyes were this cold, different light as they began to tear up slightly. It scared me.

Everything was dark now: alien, dangerous, and frightening. Dark oblivion encompassed the yard we stood on, emptiness and silence grinning around us. In the dim halo of light the building behind us casted, I kept my eyes on Nahlah only.

"Nahlah—" I began, desperately hoping to calm her down, but then Tony tasered me.

I haven't felt that for so long. It was when Tony and I first met that I felt those unbearable branches of venomous torture. I crumbled to my knees in agony, squeezing my muscles, my innards, my mind—anything to bear the pain. For Nahlah. I gritted my teeth, grunting, then hollering in agony. I sweated instantly as my body fought to immunize itself, squeezing my eyes as if hoping to exclude the pain, to keep it from mentally bringing me down.

"CELESTE!" shrieked Nahlah as that second of pain bit me down.

Her voice was all I could hear in the darkness of my pain as I tried to focus on it, focus on saving it.

I tried to say her name, but Tony kneeled next to me. He whispered, "I know she is Nahlah, from Spa&Soul. But _who_ is she, Celeste?"

My eyes shot open as I panted heavily and painfully. I forced myself to glare at him, all the memories of our bond brainwashed, as I replaced them with his foreign, cynical expression. He studied me calmly, however, despite the confusing heat in his eyes.

"Who _is_ she?" he demanded louder, yet low enough to keep Nahlah and her captor from hearing.

I felt heavily and powerless as I tried to feel my neck. I breathed heavily at the pain. Desperately, I managed to slowly look up despite the pain. My vision wavered, but it refocused on Nahlah's terrified state. Her eyes had never left me as she stared at me protectively, frightened.

"CELESTE!" She burst into tears. Her captor pressed the gun against the back of her head, this time.

Fire flared inside me as I intensely tried to move anything. I gasped out, "Don't—_touch_ her!"

"Celeste . . ." Nahlah's voice cracked as she sniffled, staring at me.

_This _couldn't _be happening._

That was all I could think.

_This _isn't_ happening . . ._

_Tony, damn you. Go to hell. Go to fucking hell. Go to fucking hell. I hope you DIE. I hope you suffer. Dammit, Tony. Damn you, Tony. Go to HELL. Damn YOU, Tony. You son of a bitch. You FUCKING bastard._

Fury rolled inside me, as if crushing my innards as I clenched my teeth and budged my arms. The pain seemed to wear off slightly as the deadly minutes passed, feeling like the presence of a killer standing over you in that lingering silence of death. Any moment I knew one gunshot and it was over, whether it was me or Nahlah. But it was Nahlah all I could think of.

_Fuck you, Tony._

_Dammit._ I tried to refocus, for once, on how to kill Tony. Kill him in any way: gunshot, knife, torture. But that was hard—Nahlah was crying, I had to comfort her, I had to get her out of here.

She was all I could think of; if I didn't think about her, I would be afraid that she'd already been shot. My mind was hazy but heavy with the dreading fear of her death on my hands, sinking in front of me. It was like watching a movie: you were helpless, but you felt the pain.

My anger was overlapped with utter confusion: I had been so cautious—what did we do wrong that enabled Tony to figure us out? How did he find out?

The idea enraged me with this guilt that already planted itself torturously upon me; this mentality told me it was already my fault.

Nahlah was gonna die.

Tears of hatred, frustration, and grief escaped. I budged my legs slowly, as they seemed to buckle back to life. Tony still knelt next to me, watching.

_How the_ hell _did he find out?_

After five minutes of Nahlah's sobbings, my grunts of agonized effort, and Tony's bloody silence, he spoke: ". . . You think I'm stupid?"

I whispered, "_Don't_, Tony. _Please_ . . .!"

Tony remained silent as death. He looked at me, nose slightly flaring. Finally, he sheathed his taser gun, replacing it with a loaded gun. Yet, he remained on his haunches, looking from me then slowly at Nahlah with utter disgust. He glared back at me.

He murmured, "You thought I was stupid? Yeah, it took me a while. But your behavior was suspicious from the get-go . . . you thought I wouldn't see you two last night?"

For the first time, I removed my eyes from Nahlah's tear-stained expression—which was as shocked as me—as I glared at Tony in shock.

So he _did_ see?

I glared into space as the realization dawned on me, cursing at myself: I shoulda known he would have _one_ day walked on us. But when and how?

". . . After Nahlah _kissed_ you at the spa," he growled, emphasizing disgust, ". . . I arrived at your house. But on foot. I didn't feel like using my car that day. And you won't believe what I saw through your bedroom window . . ."

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

_I'm sorry, Nahlah. I'm so, so, so,_ so _sorry . ._ .

_Fuck you, Tony._

Nothing else occupied my mind, except self-hatred, guilt, fright for Nahlah, and curses and death plots for Tony. Yet, his words dug into my heart like nails on a chalkboard as he continued telling his story.

"I couldn't believe it," he whispered.

Suddenly, he roared belligerently as if about to charge into battle. He stood up so abruptly, then walked toward Nahlah. By then, I was able to move a bit. I struggled to my feet as I stood up, weakly reaching after him, for Nahlah.

He said to his comrade, "Get her gun and taser."

The Black Neck gave Nahlah to Tony, approached me ominously, and searched me with his own gun pointed at me. He stole my gun and taser, then left.

Tony held Nahlah by the arms firmly as she struggled to break free; he aimed his gun at her temple to dissuade her. The very sight made every angry fiber tingle throughout my entire being.

My eyes solely focused on Nahlah, who trembled, but tightened her jaw and silently gazed at me. Tear stains coated her face, making me finally hint out a bruise near her temple. Fury bubbled again as I started toward Tony. I didn't care if Tony pulled the gun on me—I knew he wouldn't shoot me. I was his girlfriend . . .

But _would_ he?

The question lingered as I slowly reached for Nahlah. Tony just stood there, knowing I was powerless. He watched me as if to further his writhering disgust as I tried to reach Nahlah and only Nahlah. The love I recognized in his warm russet eyes had completely faded from life. Nothing but empty darkness glowered at me.

"Tony," I said, stopping shortly in front of them, "please. I'll do _anything_. But don't . . ."

I couldn't even bear to bring out the word "kill", "shoot", or "hurt" when it regarded Nahlah. The very idea sent my heart shuddering as I choked up, trying to keep my tears from falling. One of us had to brave, and that had to me. I had to be brave in front of Nahlah, let her know I knew that I could get us out of this nightmare.

_Why didn't I see this coming? I could have prevented this . . ._

Nahlah's argument with me about breaking up with Tony while I still had the chance from hurting him haunted me. Next, there was Tony's earlier resentment I hinted shortly before I left to warn Nahlah about my night shift. I should have known those dark sparks in his eyes was _the_ warning that could have saved Nahlah from this.

And look what my lack of thought brought us.

Emotionally overwhelmed, I stood there, begging Tony with helplessly eyes. My tears fell.

". . . It's not as if I just found out last night," murmured my enemy in an ominous, alto tone. "I had sources keep an eye on you, back when I was so concerned about you. I was afraid you would turn your back on Project Icarus, while at the same time fearing Runners would find you out of revenge. When you tossed your earpiece, it made me protecting you harder and more frustrating. So I sent Boots to watch you."

_Boots . . .? Why did that sound familiar?_ I remember only hearing it once; I heard it so briefly, though.

Tony explained without pause: "You may know her. Ari."

"Ari?" I gasped, as if the name was now a forbidden curse.

More hatred lodged my throat and sent my heart beating faster into despise for everyone around me. At Project Icarus, at Ari, and at Tony.

_Ari. _

It explained everything: her checking on me every time I visited Fye.

_Boots_. I shoulda _known_—she was famous for her big army-like boots!

A memory hit me, reminding me of when Ari nearly crashed into me on her bike. She didn't accidentally bump into me, she had been following me shortly before I was ambushed by my ex-Runner comrades. Now I knew how Tony and the others were able to find and rescue me so fast.

The dark truth sunk in, drowing me. I stood there in disbelief.

Nahlah's sobs brought me back. I didn't dare to keep my mind off her as I stared from her to Tony. His gun remained at her temple, as he looked at me.

"At first," he explained coldly, "Ari's reports of you visiting Nahlah sounded harmless. You were friends, after all, right? You bonded because of the massages—but _now_ I know why you joined Project Icarus, why you loved massages . . ."

I couldn't do anything but stare him in the eyes, the sight so lethal it was like looking at daggers and afraid you'd be cut.

"Ari mentioned of seeing you two seeing each other frequently shortly after I asked you out . . ."

Tony grinded his teeth murderously as he appeared concentrated, as if hoping to squeeze out undesirable images of Nahlah and I out. His eyes aimed blood-shot at me as he pressed the gun tighter against Nahlah's head. Nahlah tried to hold back whimpers, but I heard them. I heard and saw every detail of her: her quivering lips, her shuddering shoulders, her reddening nose as she constantly sniffled trying to fight back tears for my sake; her eyes—eyes I was afraid of losing. The light inside them—I couldn't lose them.

". . . But the fact that you kept your meetings with her after duty made me curious. I had Ari gradually look into it. She didn't see anything abnormal about it," continued Tony. "However . . . the more you ran off to see her, the more I recognized the meaning behind your secrecy, how much it meant to you . . ."

I didn't want to listen to his voice, not to the voice of Nahlah's captor.

My fists curled as I stood there, hoping with all my heart that I could recover all my strength.

As if reading my mind, Tony gave me a final glower before declaring, "I see that you hate listening to me. I'll get to the point—"

Adrenaline reined me forward as I lunged: "NAHLAH!"

Within seconds, Tony hit Nahlah to the ground, then swiftly aimed his gun at me. This halted me; relief gradually found me. I was grateful that he didn't shoot her. I stopped instantly the moment he aimed the gun.

When was this nightmare gonna end? It felt like an everlasting minute of torture as I stood there helplessly, staring at the death hole. My eyes fixed back on Nahlah, on the ground. She sat up from Tony's warning blow, looking up at me, still trembling slightly.

"Nahlah . . ." I whispered.

"All this time," barked Tony, grabbing Nahlah again by the hair and pulling painfully. He glared at me, gun aimed steadily. "You went behind my back to sleep with this lesbian _whore_."

Suddenly, Tony aimed his gun at Nahlah. At the same time, he lunged a kiss against her, pressing her against him, groping her chest; she gasped reclutantly, grunting with effort and hateful resistance. This was brief as he held her by the hair and aimed the gun at her again. Throughout that matter of seconds indignation pierced through me as I lunged for him. I charged at him; he saw me and reflexively aimed his gun again.

"CEL, STOP!" Nahlah managed to screech despite Tony pulling at her hair.

I halted reluctantly, wondering what possessed Nahlah to keep me away.

Nahlah squealed in pain as Tony pulled at her hair again.

"WHY _HER_, CELESTE!" he roared fiercely, pulling again and again. Every time he pulled, he pulled a heartstring. "I GAVE YOU WHATEVER I COULD—I TRIED, I CARED! What made me different from HER!?"

_I shoulda have listened to you, Nahlah. I shoulda broken up with him long ago._

_I'm sorry, Nahlah._

I stood there, fists clenching, glaring at Tony. However, his words hit me as a mix of emotions shackled me in my thoughts. I stared into a painful oblivion as dread and darkness took over. But my thoughts automatically returned to Nahlah.

"Who IS SHE, Celeste?" boomed Tony again. "WHO IS SHE!?"

I fell to my knees, Nahlah's tears and fear weighing me down. I sobbed:

"She's _everything_ to me . . ."

My voice trembled violently, discorded notes of trepidation and pain. My entire being was anchored by anguish. My awareness became blurry and numb as this hour of suffering remained unchanged.

"Please, Tony . . ." I looked up back at Nahlah, eyes focused on her. "Please . . . I'll do anything . . . _please_ . . ."

Tony's eyes had been glued barbarically to me as he studied my mentally deformed state. The gun remained pressed against Nahlah's head, who was forced onto her knees. However, she weakly looked up at me, locking gaze with me with strong, undying devotion and love.

"Celeste . . ." she whispered. "I'm sorry . . ."

She smiled weakly.

This made me tremble as I looked up to Tony, wondering what he was contemplating, and hoping he wasn't contemplating the wrong thing. He looked at me and Nahlah, then his lips curled rejectively.

". . . You were everything to _me_ . . ." he whispered.

Suddenly, Tony pulled Nahlah up by the hair once more. He used it to rein her over several yards from me. I shot up to my knees, charging, as a fear jolted through my heart.

But Tony violently shoved Nahlah to her knees again, aimed his gun at the back of her head, and pulled the trigger.

"NAHLAH!"

Everything felt so light as I soared to reach her. The world suddenly dropped a boulder on me as the gunshot stopped me in my tracks. My eyes trailed her very body as it dropped instantly to the ground.

My eyes darted to Tony without thinking, seeing that he fell as well.

_What . . .?_

Things happened so fast. Next thing I knew, something told me Tony was dead, and Nahlah trembled as she got up to her feet. She looked from Tony to me, gasping in total fright, before looking at me. Then, her eyes widened with relief as she scrambled to her feet and raced to meet me.

It still took a while for what happened to hit me, but I didn't care, for the only thing that did hit me was that Nahlah, for some miraculous reason, was alive.

I raced to her, faster than I ever ran.

Nahlah shouted, "Celeste . . .!"

"NAHLA—" I began.

And then, she lunged forward and knocked me back. I was flat on my back, my world spinning. I felt the impact at the back of my head within those splitting seconds. An aching shock of pain spiked through my head and throughout my entire being. I gasped out in surprise to Nahlah's knocking me down and the pain that greeted me.

However, despite the pain, I sat up. I looked waveringly up at Nahlah, confused.

"Nahlah—" I gasped.

I scurried to my feet, then reached out to embrace her.

"CELESTE, STOP!" shrieked Nahlah murderously, hands shooting out to halt me.

Instinctively, I stopped.

"StopstopSTOP!" gasped Nahlah.

I was confused. Once again, things were happening so fast, nothing of reality could fully reach me in time. I stared at her, trembling, panting.

"_What_—Nahlah!?"

Nahlah was waving her hands ridiculously, but once she saw me standing still alarmingly, she gasped. She began hyperventilating as she placed her hand against her throat or chest, trying to calm down. I opened my mouth to breathlessly ask what was wrong, then, Nahlah looked at me.

". . . Stay back," she whispered, standing still, as if we were being watched. Her breath shuddered.

"Nahlah . . .?" Every inch of me burned to hold her so I could know I hadn't lost her. I reached for her slowly and cautiously.

But Nahlah burst, "NO, THERE'S A BOMB!"

I looked at her, still confused. But then, I looked down, and noticed how she was standing: absolutely still. Her legs remained parted, as if prepared to jump. Her arms were protectively spread out to keep me from making any movements, while she stared down at her own feet, then back at me.

A new fear sent my heart cold. I became numb from tears and hatred as my new emptiness was eventually gorged by a new numbness. My hands and legs had minds of their own as I dropped to my knees and crambled around, undigging the dirt Nahlah stood on. Eventually, I found the hidden trigger, a small silver plate. Pacing myself as if racing time, I lowered down to examine them.

"Celeste . . ." croaked Nahlah.

I ignored her as I gasped, "_No_, I'm familiar with bombs. I can get you outta here."

The fear remained like stubborn roots, eventually choking my heart as new tears swelled.

"Celeste . . ." repeated Nahlah in a hurt whisper.

I snapped worriedly, "Don't move. It's fine, just let me look at this."

Again, time was like a dream as all of this happened so fast, yet the torture of knowing I could lose her any minute seemed to last.

My hands splashed aside the dirt, rocks, and pebbles, trying to figure out the design of the bomb.

"Celeste . . . Tony planned this all the way through, from the very beginning he broke into my house when you left to come here," said Nahlah. I heard the pain in her voice, but I tried to ignore the truth.

"No, no, Nahlah—that _son of a bitch_ is dead," I said hurriedly, still scanning the bomb in hopeless hope. "That son of a bitch . . . I'm sorry Nahlah . . . I'll get you out of this . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

My tone weakened as my words were reduced to whispers.

"Celeste . . . I'm sorry . . ."

I looked up at her, and realized I was wasting time. Swiftly, I stood up, as she absorbed my eyes with her own, smiling weakly at me. But the futility in her eyes ripped my heart to shreds. Her lips trembled, her voice shook:

"Can you believe it? It's midnight, when we first kissed . . ."

_"No . . ."_ I took her in, and kissed her passionately. I held onto her, I did whatever it took to keep her in my arms. I refused to let her go. Pain and grief devoured us in its forlorn wings as we held on to each other.

It happened all so fast, but we were trapped in the endless hour of midnight. Nahlah and I kissed again and again; we never let go, I couldn't release my lips from her even if I wanted to; I pressed into her hard, arms yearning every inch of her, combing her hair, hugging her. Our tears mingled with our bodies as Nahlah finally gasped out a sob, breaking us apart.

"I'm sorry, Celeste . . ." she whispered. ". . . You can't do anything . . ."

"No . . ." I shook my head in denial as I grabbed her face and kissed her again. "No, no, noNO, NO, NO!"

I refused to let her say anything as I kissed her again.

And again and again . . .

But Nahlah gasped, "Go, Celeste . . ."

I stared at her, my lips lingering on her mouth. My arms kept her close to me as I hugged her until I choked the life out of her. She squeezed back, but went limp as she tried to reject me.

"Celeste, _go_. Before Project Icarus finds you and sees you with me, and Tony . . ."

I kissed her again, gasping: "I'd rather die with you."

"NO!" Nahlah suddenly shoved me back a few steps, cautious that she didn't shift weight whatsoever in her feet. As I looked at her wearily from tears, she smiled. And whispered, "Be strong for me, Celeste. _Run_. You're a Runner."

I felt like my mind was exploding as the toxic title made its way back into my life. Instantly, I shook my head like a stubborn child and pulled in to kiss Nahlah, but she blocked it with a finger, held my face, and kissed my forehead.

All she could do was smile. _"Run."_

I couldn't budge, no matter how much I tried. I couldn't leave her. I hated her smile that very second.

That was when there were hollers of men. I heard the choppers; their beams of light searched the area.

"I heard a gunshot—over here!"

"We can't let them see you with me," whispered Nahlah, pulling at my face from the distractions. I looked at her, confused, hurt, torn, dying.

_"No,"_ I said, hugging her close.

"GO, Cel!" she whispered, voice cracking.

I kissed her again, but I couldn't go. ". . . I can't move, Nahlah. I can't move. Not when I know I can't save you . . ."

My tears fed off my fear as they rolled endlessly. Nahlah wiped them away hurriedly, smiling. "You _did_ save me. On that day of that protest."

Shocked, I blinked at her through my tears, trying to keep in that beautiful, sweat-matted, tear-stained, loving face in sight. But my tears took over; I blinked again to wash them out, but Nahlah kissed me quickly.

"Go, Cel. _Go_. PLEASE!"

Something—I don't know if it was Nahlah—pushed me from her. I suddenly turned sharply and trotted away.

"HURRY!" hasted Nahlah from behind me.

I was only a few feet when something pulled at my heart as if about to rip it out: then, I stopped, turned, and rushed back to her.

"_No_, Cel . . ." Her voice was weak as she croaked a sob. I took her into my arms, kissed her thousands of times, until she gasped: "Promise me, Celeste? Promise me you'll be strong . . .?"

_"I can't . . ."_ I sobbed. I felt so weak, I just wanted to die with her. I couldn't live a breath without her.

"They'll shoot you at sight, you can't just stay with me—GO!"

I grabbed her face, looking fiercely into it as a fear ruptured my heart: "You're gonna force them into disabling this bomb in exchange you tell them where I am. It'll save you—"

"NO, Cel!" Nahlah gasped, "GO, Cel!"

"PROMISE ME!" I exclaimed, holding her face tightly. "Promise me you'll live! Disable the bomb!"

Celeste was trying to push me while at the same time making sure she didn't move her feet. "CELESTE, PLEASE!"

"I love you."

Nahlah stared at me, face frozen, tears frozen, eyes frozen, mouth frozen. Then, the tears flowed again. I stopped them with my thumbs, grabbed her face, and kissed her long before he shoved me.

"GO!"

My mind grew faint; my body heavier than ever with the worse burden ever, as something dragged me farther and farther away from the only meaning of living. My innards felt nauseated as I swayed as I ran, but Nahlah cried from behind me, "Faster! Go, Celeste! RUN!"

It was all I could ever do.

I ran faster and faster. I had no idea what was around me. All I saw was her fear-smitten face, her beautifully scared eyes; and all I heard was Nahlah's voice.

And then, all I heard was the explosion.

Pain and love: everything I had been Running from, then everything I had been Running to. Now gone. In one explosion.

Behind me, I could feel everything. Numbness slowed me me to a staggered halt, as I stared blankly ahead. Everything seemed to tumble and distort into nothingness as I dared not look back, nor forward, or even into reality.

But . . .

I collapsed to my knees. The explosion rung and lingered through my eardrums, through my mind; icing it into total agony, yet emptiness. My heart swelled with indescribable suffocation. Fire burned throughout me as my stomach tightened, then squeezed out a foreign, shrilled wail. The vibrating, deafening boom overwhelmed my sobs. I couldn't move; I was so weak, so empty, so dead; I just squeezed my eyes, mind fists, my stomach, my mind, and my heart to keep myself from bawling anymore.

But I wailed.

It was all I could do.

--

_Nahlah . . ._

I wandered the rooftops, dragged lightly through everything that was gray . . .

_Nahlah . . ._

_Forgive me . . . _

I stood weakly at the Edge, looking down at the depths of humanity in those dark, clean streets.

_Forgive me . . ._

I knew no other words, no other thoughts, no other existences or meanings. Just Nahlah.

_Forgive me . . ._

It was all I could think, it was all that haunted me, it was all that took my life. It was all that once fed me life; it was all that gave me more than just the sunshine and blue sky; it was all that motivated me to let go. To return to the Edge.

_Forgive me . . ._

My mind went blank, only able to hauntingly replay what happened who knows how many hours ago. I couldn't recall where I was, for someone who knew the rooftops so well.

My eyes sunk downward, for once, wishing to embrace gravity and let it carry me as it see fit. The gravity I defied was now my pull, my savior.

_Forgive me . . ._

I felt so weak . . . my heart surged with its final pain . . .

_Forgive me . . ._

I closed my eyes, feeling light and sleepy.

"CELESTE!"


	33. Leave Out the Rest

Chapter 33:

Leave Out the Rest

_Nahlah?_

"CELESTE!"

"Get her—stop her!"

_Nahlah . . .!?_

I felt so light, but heavy at the same time as I fell. But heavy again. And light again. Was this dying?

_Nahlah . . . I heard her . . ._

_Nahlah . . ._

A sting clogged in the very core of my being as I cried.

_Nahlah, Nahlah, Nahlah . . ._

_Come back . . _

_Nahlah . . ._

--

How many days passed? Weeks? Eternity? Was I even _alive_ to concern myself with days?

_Nahlah . . ._

Darkness felt enlightening, so relieving. But it was heavy at the same time, almost drowning, yet as though floating in soothing currents. This, however, didn't change the ultimate burden, the greatest wound of deprivation and grief. My entire being was scarred by nothing but emptiness once full of sadness. Now I was nothing. I was dead.

My body and mind felt as though it's been strangely refreshened, as if I had come from Running where I felt exhausted, yet strong and new.

How many days passed? Weeks? Eternity? Was I even alive to concern myself with days?

"Celeste . . ."

_Nahlah . . . forgive me._ Tears soaked themselves in the darkness, haunting my cheeks like crawling ticks.

_Nahlah . . ._

The darkness framing my light-headed vision melted back like light filling a room. However, that heavy emptiness pressured my chest, heart, and weary yet awakened mind, feeling "like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel against the realities pressing into her soul".

It was all a dream.

Despite the city traffic I could hear outside, everything was silent. The world, my world, that which existed only because of Nahlah, was mute. Dead. Nonexistent. I was not here, nor was Nahlah.

_Nahlah . . ._

Still unbelievable. I lay there, knowing I was laying there, wherever "there" was. The eerie silence became my only music as I didn't bother looking around my new haven. Just at the ceiling. But even as I was looking at the ceiling, I was heavy in silence, my vision masked by nothing but illusions of what could have been a dream and a nightmare knitted together.

All I could see what Nahlah . . .

_Nahlah . . . my opium, my pain, my life . . . my beloved . . . Nahlah . . . my Nahlah . . ._

So quiet. I lay there in eternal, blissful silence. Maybe I _was_ dead. The white ceiling was maybe white oblivion, or hell, or even not nothing but nothing.

So quiet.

It bothered me, but the traumatic boom always replaced the silence. And Nahah's sobs and cries, and her brave, yet trembling blue orbs . . . her trembling smile, her smile of reassaurance.

She was so far away. It was like I thought her up. Memories became dreams, and dreams became passing thoughts, and thoughts became soon oblivion, stamped by painful loss. As if I knew there was something filling up that bowl of memorylessness. I knew it was empty, but I knew something was still there.

The image of her tugged at me murderously.

So quiet, nothing but thoughts and memories.

I closed my eyes, tears stinging my throat again as I let the silence eat my silent tears. I gasped and whimpered myself to sleep, to silence . . .

--

_Nahlah . . ._

"Nahlah . . ."

". . . Celeste . . ."

"Nahlah . . . she came to me long ago and handed me . . ."

". . . Dead . . ."

"Faith . . ."

". . . Project Icarus . . . Black Necks . . . Celeste . . ."

My ears refocused on the whispering words invading my eternal, painfully blissful silence. My mute world came to an irritating noise as I regained consciousness. I did not stir. Nothing was itchy, nothing was aching, nothing was messy, nothing was there. Just my floating mind in painful yet consoling silence—as if the cause of pain was my only remedy.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I wasn't sure whether it was important or not. But now that things have happened, we have to take it seriously."

"What about Celeste?"

". . . All we can do is wait."

"What do we tell her?"

"There's nothing to tell her. She knows. She knew the moment she heard it go off."

"We coulda saved her the trouble by removing Tony Canon's body, that way Project Icarus wouldn't assume her responsible for his unexplained death and her missing and the explosion everything."

"Let them find his body. Let them know we took care of him."

"But they'll think Celeste did it."

"Or that she was abducted and he got killed in the attempt to save her?"

They say death is our cradle we all envitably return to. I wanted that cradle, that peaceful, muted cradle. I couldn't stand anyone's else voice, nor the beeping and airy noises of city traffic outside. Everything was out of place, colorless, nameless, and meaningless.

". . . What do we tell her family? That she died in a car accident, then the car blew up?"

"I guess. But we don't take care of that. And it wouldn't matter. She's . . . gone. Completely . . ."

"Do we tell Celeste . . . how she died?"

"That is up to her. I don't think it matters how. The fact that Nahlah is . . . no more, in itself, is unbearable. You should know better, Miho."

"Right . . ."

_Miho?_

Everything was fresh and different, as if inhaling the spring air for the first time. My eyes fluttered open as I looked to my right. There they were, the Shard Sisters. I could never forget their unique glass-like shard tattoos domininating their arms. Not to mention the Japanese-Americans looked like sisters: those unforgettable clear-water Asian eyes bulging from their model-like American faces. Their unique ethnically physical makeup, black hair, and identifiable tattoos made them stand out.

I just stared at them on my bed as they sat there on the bed next to me. As they whispered something about a "letter", their eyes glimpsed at me, and widened.

"Celeste . . .!" they whispered.

I stared mutely and drowsily, emotionally drained. My mind was hazy yet empty at the same time. That same pain remained locked in my chest like a heavy rock.

Miku and Miho silently came to my bedside. They leaned on the Edge, but kept their beautiful sisterly faces far from my face. I remained silent there, head rolled to the side, looking att them. Then, slowly and weakly, I looked up at the ceiling.

_Nahlah . . ._

She felt so far away, it was as if she never existed.

_Nahlah . . ._

The Shard Sisters silently waited for me to speak. But I never did for the next hour. As they sat there, I whimpered and cried and sometimes even wailed as the reality dawned on me.

_Nahlah . . ._

I awoke again to fading darkness. Dusk slowly melted into place as fingers of light barely made it through the curtained window next to me. The Shard Sisters were gone.

There was nothing to do but think into oblivion and sleep into oblivion. Pain and memory was all that accompanied me. Flashbacks plagued my mind as I began to let go again, wishing I was dead. But I was so weak, I kinda let death take me slowly.

Again, I came back to. Hovering over me was the exotic, tall Miho. Her perfectly narrow face smiled weakly down at me, eyes sqinting sympathetically. I noticed the familiar tiny black upside triangle below her left eye. Her long, night-colored hair tumbled like flawless silk as she leaned down. As she stood carefully over me, she tilted down, displaying a plate of food.

It looked so unappealing, so tasteless and lifeless, I looked away from the food. I don't even remember what she served me.

Miho left.

I slept again into painful dreams.

What felt like weeks passed. Finally, as I awoke, I felt more rewewed, but still too weak to move. I just laid there for hours looking into only memories. Miku arrived once or twice to check on me silently, then would leave. I liked it like that.

Silence . . .

_Nahlah . . ._

--

The memories felt like dreams staked into my mind every time I thought about Nahlah: her weight upon or against me when we laid in bed, which was replaced by this light emptiness like the presence of a feather. I knew it was there, but I couldn't feel it. Every time I awoke and looked up, I expected her greeting, silent, and affectionate blue eyes gazing down.

Her name repeating itself in my mind became like numbers or annoying songs I could couln't get rid of unless I sang the annoying songs. The only problem was that Nahlah wasn't there to sing to or sing with. Her name became some forgotten jewel in the sands of my vast, empty desert of a mind: warm with the memories, yet empty because they were just memories; missing the rain, the weight of reality, the sweet kiss and taste of the rain.

The worst part was her face. All I could see was her face. Sometimes it was smiling, but most of it was when I last saw her: crying. It was the worst memory, the worse figment, the worse feeling I have ever felt. I felt gutted in the stomach thousands of times, stabbed in the heart hellish times.

_Nahlah . . ._

_I love you. I miss everything about you; our fights, your protectiveness, your dancing, your smile, your strokes, your laughter, your kiss, your arms . . ._

The very thought of her was like an obsession. It wasn't just her personality or intimate details that I mourned over, it was her being, her existence, which dominated my thoughts; melting like a sunset into the forgotten, reviving again with a painful intensity like boiling water that stabbed me with an imcomprehensible longing . . . a longing I knew I could never have again, like that of a human's vanity.

I had no reason to live.

What did one do when they had no reason to live . . .?

Something irked me in the same intensity my uanswered desire triggered. The feeling of . . . a promise. I had made her a promise, even though she broke hers to stay alive.

_Now, I'm still alive, but not anymore._

I fought against my promise to her, to stay alive. I had no will to live. I lay there cringing and rolling in agony, crying again, arms hugging a pillow that I yearned to be Nahlah. I remained latched to this manestifation of desire, of loss and pain.

--

I dunno how many days passed, but time didn't exist. Just eternal oblivion of suffering, being awake, but trapped in a silent nightmare. The boom returned to my ears, burning my eyes and stinging my nostrils and throat. Sometimes I burst out of bed, screaming for Nahlah. The Shard Sisters would hurry and hush me and lay me back into bed. I cried to sleep, sobbing as though hyperventilating; sometimes I smacked their arms away and screamed for them to leave, to die, or even to kill me.

--

"You haven't eaten for a week, Celeste," murmured Miku, slowly and cautiously holding a plate near me. "Please, eat. Or you'll starve to death . . ."

How could I eat when I felt full, nauseated to the stomach? Only tears satisfied my starvation, or in that case, grief replaced my starvation. It was all I fed on as it kept me awake in bed.

I looked at Miku, seeing her for the first time as emptiness haunted my mind. I tried to see through my blank mind as I observed her: her hair used to be long like Miho's was now, but she cut it shoulder-lengthed, beautiful spiky layers flaring out and framing her young face. She had a small puff of sharp bangs over her forehead. Half of her hair was pulled up in a tiny, bobbing, prickly ponytail, painfully stamping an image of Nahlah in front of me. Tears fell automatically as always. I let them fall, to make sure they were real.

I couldn't stand seeing another human if it wasn't Nahlah, especially if it was a woman. Looking at Miku twisted my heart again as I lay there silently crying, as if it was all I could do. Everything felt so foreign, so new but dangerous.

Miho joined us silently. With a sorrowful frown, she whispered, "Celeste . . . we're sorry . . . but you've got to keep living. As she wished."

I wanted to thrash out at her: she had _no_ idea what I was feeling, what I was seeing every day in front of me, what I was dreaming, what I was suffering. But I stared at her, tears taking over; the sting remained thorning in my chest.

Then, Miho pulled out a piece of enevelope. She silently held it out to me so I could stare at it, while her sister glared at her in shock. Before Miku could protest, her sister whispered, "You'll want to read it."

I looked at her, then at the foreign object. Finally, I slowly grasped it. I looked at the envelope in all angles to see who wrote it. A strange, mournful, tingling sensation took over me as I slowly pulled out the letter addressed to me in familiar handwriting. My eyes slowly traced every word, every flourish, ever detail and message behind Nahlah's letter:

_Celeste,_

_My beloved, beautiful Celeste. It wrenches my heart and brings a sting to my eyes to have to write this because I know you reading this means I have hurt you. I write this for your sake. I need to know I did _something_ that would keep you living. I can't imagine leaving you behind to save you, if you go and do anything of the worst to yourself. So, please, listen to me; understsand that I am behind this letter, these words of love:_

_I love you, Celeste._

_I know I should have told you after writing this letter that I love you, but I knew you knew. Sometimes words weren't necessary when the actions themselves said everything about our undying love: our laughter, listening to music, fighting, making up, kissing . . ._

_I have tried everything in my power to keep you safe: from pain and sorrow, from me, from the truth—the truth that I, too, am a Runner. Forgive me for not telling you, but I felt as though it had nothing to do with us. Our lives as Runners, it didn't matter to me. It didn't matter to you. What did it matter what our jobs were? All that mattered was our love, our passion for each other._

_I don't know what else to say. I love you, Celeste. I love you. I love you. I __love__ you. I loved you the moment I saw you. It sounds ridiculous, but it was true. My heart burned with joy, yet pain because at first I knew I had to accept that it was impossible to be with you. But our flitted glances, our timid smiles, our frequent visits to see each other, triggered this warm flame of hope . . . that told me I knew I could be with you._

_I'm so choked up, and I'm sure you are, too, that you feel like giving up. But that's why I write this, to keep you going. Please, Celeste. It makes me cry to think about you reading this—so, please, keep going._

_I'm sorry, Celeste. Forgive me, I'm so sorry. It's all I can say apart from that I love you. But you already know that. Yet . . . _

_My real name is Marria Carranza. _

_I have lied to you, and again, forgive me. But everything else I told you were not lies: I _am_ Spanish-Mexican, I _did_ love Linkin Park, Lily Allen, classics, everything we shared. I want to let you know that what you feel is a nightmare and a dream combined, is real: I _am_ here. I will always love you. All those dances, our timid meetings at Spa&Soul, all those laughters and smiles and hugs and kisses, and our times in bed, all of it was real. _

_I'm still here, Celeste._

_I was happy to meet you for the first time at Spa&Soul, after remembering that you saved my life. I was one of those protestors, on that night when you came out of nowhere and risked revealing yourself as a Runner to save us. To save people like us, who shared the love we shared. I couldn't believe I was seeing you again after the protest; I fell in love in your beautiful, divine, dignitary being when you took out those Blues. I knew instantly when you walekd into Spa&Soul that we were meant to be. However, my hopes dwindled when I thought at first that Tony was your boyfriend . . ._

_ My beloved Celeste . . . _

_The Shard Sisters should have everything I asked them to give to you, that including an album of Linkin Park you never got, yet. The songs are old, but will be new to you. I want you to listen to _Leave Out the Rest_. I've been listening to it over and over ever since I began this letter. All I can say is that it conveys what I thought about regarding you. I need you to know my thoughts, and frankly, I'm running out of words. But _Leave Out the Rest_ should explain to you._

_I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry. I know you want to hear more, but, all I can say is that I love you. And I'm sorry, again. Forgive me. _

_Why did I not tell you I was a Runner? Because I didn't want our Runner lives to get in the way of our love life._

_I love you, Celeste. Keep holding on to faith._

_Love you for always,_

_Nahlah._

_P.S. I love you._

I desperately searched the two and a half pages, afraid that I skipped a page. But I couldn't help it: I wanted more. I wanted to read more of her words, her feelings, her thoughts, her love, her very existence. I madly flipped through the pages over and over, tears soiling her words. Realizing this, I wiped my eyes fervently, while I hovered helplessly and painfully over her words. I read her letter again, over and over. I wanted to feel Nahlah behind them, I wanted to picture her writing the letter, even if it was for the most painful purposes.

I crumbled Nahlah's letters in my aching grip as I grieved. When I realized I had crinkled the letter, I spread and smoothed them out again, trembling, sobbing, gasping.

She said her real name was Marria, but it wasn't. It wasn't Nahlah, the Nahlah I knew, loved, and lost. She was always Nahlah, and still is. I knew nothing else if I associated my memories of her with the name Marria, which sounded like the real fraud to me. The foreign name gripped me horribly as I tried to squeeze it out, tears squeezing out, as I leaned over and cried again.

It never stopped.

_I couldn't believe . . . this whole time . . . I had joined Project Icarus so I could see Nahlah more, so I could gain immediate protection for her . . . when she was a Runner, like I was once, the whole time . . . It could have been _me_ that nearly killed her as I was chasing down Runners. It could have been _her_ I had been chasing, without realizing it._

So many questions nibbled teasingly on mind to the point it angered me. I sobbed more, while the Shard Sisters stood there in empathetic silence. Twenty minutes later they left, then came back an hour later.

Finally, Miku and Miho seemed to have had enough with me. This walked in quietly, allowed me to lay there for several in minutes to get used to their presence walking in on my climax of grief, before Miku finally spoke:

"She never knew about you and Project Icarus. She never knew Tony Canon was your comrade, too," murmured Miku, as if afraid that speaking any louder than a whisper would send me screaming. "All she knew was that she loved you, and didn't want you knowing she was a Runner like you. She came to us some time after you guys began seeing each other frequently. Said she couldn't help but have fallen for you, even though you were 'dating' Canon. She requested if it ever had to come to this, we'd safe-keep her letter."

"Here's the Linkin Park CD," added Miho quietly as I accepted the CD as though it was my sacrament. I clutched it in my hand as I looked into hurtful memories blankly, though I could still hear their voices.

". . . How long . . . has . . . she been a Runner?" I whispered reluctantly.

My voice didn't sound like it belonged to me. I knew it was mine, but it felt and sounded so distant from my tired, drained, muted vocal chords.

"Around the same time you became a Black Neck," whispered Miho, sweet and gentle as she sat next to me. ". . . When Merc and Drake realized the city was losing its Runners, he began recruiting new ones. We hired so many Runners, who are currently still being trained. They got younger and younger, seeing that children could run faster and fit in smaller, hidden areas from the CPF. Marria was one of them . . ."

_"Nahlah . . ."_ I corrected weakly, but the power and painful passion was audible in my tone.

The Shard Sisters fell silent instantly, then spoke up three minutes after I fell silent again.

"Ya know . . ." continued Miho, melty eyes frowning at me as she stared at me as though I were a lost kitten. ". . . She didn't want to support the Runners at first. She was afraid to support gay rights, afraid the CPF would hurt her if she did. Until Seth and Greg finally persuaded her to join—"

Seth and Gregory? ". . . From Spa&Soul? They . . .?" I began in a low whisper.

Miku nodded. "Yes, they were partners."

"And then," pressed Miho, smiling, "after you saved her, she told us, she fell in love with you. And decided to engage more in protests. The more you two saw each other, the more she involved herself in politics. She found the courage to stand up for your rights because of you. She became a Runner for _you_."

"But . . . she didn't know I switched sides," I croaked. The tears spilled again, just when I thought I had none left. I hugged Nahlah's letter to my chest, as I stared into an oblivion of suffering, censoring out the two sisters watching me in solemn silence.

"Celeste . . ." whispered Miho.

I sniffled. "She . . . thought I was still a Runner—even though she _mistakened_ me for still being a Runner, she didn't _tell_ me!?" I roared woefully.

Miho and Miku looked at me with saddening tilts of their heads, crystal-blue eyes melting. "We're _so_ sorry, Celeste . . . _truly_ . . ." whispered Miho.

"Bring me to her box," I demanded in a cracked whisper.

"Huh?"

"Bring me to Nahlah's box. Her _home_ . . ."

And they looked at each other, then at me, and nodded lamently.


	34. Nahlah

Chapter 34:

Nahlah

The Shard Sisters and I ran the rooftops stealthily into the night. I nearly felt darkly queasy; it was as if my mind was detached from my body as my body mechanically yet heavily did what it could during Running. Miku led the way while Miho swept behind us in case my lack of Running and my loss would mess me up.

The single pathway to her door was lit up, otherwise the oval-shaped windows stared blankly back at me with blackness. The box was no longer shining white and beautiful. It was just a carcass haunted with ghosts and memories. Empty.

The neighborhood was quiet. Darkness became the only color around me as night descended. The sisters and I walked cautiously into the door, since they cautioned there could be more Black Necks searching Nahlah's for profile data; they even pulled their guns out.

But I didn't care.

I was considering keeping to Nahlah's promise to stay alive, but that didn't mean I would ever be fully alive. It wouldn't mean I wouldn't accept death if Black Necks ambushed us. I would gratefully take a bullet. Nothing seemed dangerous nor happy anymore.

Nahlah's box was just as I last left it the night she urged me to break up with Tony—the night I shoulda paid attention to, in which I should have answered to every little whim of hers. We quietly entered the huge ball-like room of her living room. I saw our clothes and albums scattered like on a battlefield in front of the sofa where we last shared a true moment together, even if it meant arguing about Tony.

I picked up a pair of Nahlah's orange tanktop with leather-stringed feathers dangling from its naval. I held it, carving out the soft details of its torquoise color in my fingers. It felt familiar, yet so different. Subconsciously, I brought it to my nostrils and inhaled her shampoo perfume.

I hadn't noticed the Shard Sisters rummaging through Nahlah's belongings. Miho was quietly scouting the hallway leading to Nahlah's bathroom and bedroom while Miku studied the kitchen and dining room—while I stood there, gazing blankly and mournfully at Nahlah's shirt.

As Miho tried to sneak past by me without disturbing me, I asked her in a hushed voice: "Where were you two?"

I didn't look at her, though. All I knew was that she paused in silent thought, not sure whether or not she was staring at me.

Miho's gentle, smooth, lady-like voice whispered, "We gave up the lives of Runners. That's all that matters—"

_"No,"_ I interrupted in a murmur, "where were you when the explosion emitted?"

Pause.

After a while, Miho's answer stuttered: "We tried to save her. We saved her from Tony from sniper's range. But before we could reach you both, the guards saw us. We took them down, but there were too many, so we ran and tried to get you both out of here. But then . . . when we arrived, some guards and Black Necks found Nahlah, who was just standing there, hands raised for surrender . . ."

My heart began to quiver with irresistible pang. I tried to tame it as I silently tightened my jaw to listen.

Miho whispered, ". . . Before we could figure out what was going on, they were . . . beating her, yet she refused to move an _inch_. We didn't know why. They even shot her once in the leg—"

My heart twinged, but I remained stone, back facing Miho explaining Nahlah's death.

"—Tried to make her talk, to tell them where you were. She finally answered, but only in a mutter. Once the leader bent down to hear what she was saying, she . . . lifted her foot . . ."

My grip on Nahlah's shirt quaked as I hugged it to me. I didn't need to know the rest of the story.

However, my voice sounded so detached from me as I questioned, "Who trained her?"

"Merc."

At first, that surprised me considering the day at Spa&Soul when Merc and Tony were being nosy.

Nahlah had lied to me: about being a Runner, about knowing Merc, about everything. How did I know she wans't a lie herself? The very thought hurt as small tears fell again.

"Out Tracker employed her, though. That's how we knew her. He contacted us just two months ago saying he was going to train her and needed us to be ready to expect her our door in case anything happened to her. She went under intense training, once in a while visiting us to familiarize herself with a friendly face, seeing that a Runner really had no friends."

My head perked up. I turned around, eyes desperately pleading Miho. ". . . Are you saying . . . I was all she had?"

Miho looked at me with just as a helpless face as mine.

My eyes penetrated her. "Are there any photos of her?"

Again, Miho silently looked at me as if I was the saddest painting. Her eyes lowered to the floor.

"Are there any photos of her? Please, anything?" I croaked in a whisper, feeling heavy.

". . . I'm sorry. But she was top secret; even Faith, Drake, nor any other Runner or Tracker besides us and Merc knew about her. No profile whatsoever . . ." she whispered.

I didn't let her finish. I missiled around her box, throwing open drawers, ripping apart clothes in her closet, searching under her bed and sofas, her bookshelves, on her bathroom sink and cabinets, in her kitchen—anywhere, anywhere that left any evidence that she existed.

I don't know how much time passed . . .

_I couldn't believe all those days Nahlah and I never took one photograph of ourselves . . . _

It felt like those eternities in a dream, even though it felt it was quick after awakening. But there was no awakening, except for Kate Chopin's _The Awakening_ laying unfinished on the table that held her iPod stereo.

I stared light-headedly at the iPod stereo. Then, I looked at the Linkin Park album Nahlah gave me I gently placed on the table by her door.

With Nahlah's computer and iMovie, I transferred Linkin _Park's Leave Out the Rest_ onto her iTuenes Library. From there, I sat there at her computer as the song possessed me.

_"I dreamed I was missing. You were so scared. But no one would listen cuz no one else cared. After my dreaming, I woke with this fear. What am I leaving, when I'm done here . . .?"_

I sat there, closing my eyes, the first verse already clawing at my heart and drowning me into the slavery of despair.

_"When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done. Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. And don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory. Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest . . ." _

I remained there for two hours, _Leave Out the Rest_ on repeat.

My memories of Nahlah filled my entire being, my entire existence, my entire thought with painful shots, yet recollected warming embraces, smiles, and kisses. Even though I had been so afraid to enter her box, afraid they would make me recoil in pain, I ended up being grateful I entered. The remedy to my pain was the pain itself, including the memories it brought. Being in Nahlah's box was my heroine, my only thing to hold on to.

But was I seriously all Nahlah had? It was a hurting thought to imagine her being all alone if I wasn't ever there.

Miku stood against the doorframe of Nahlah's computer room, joined by her sister. I could hear them standing there, readjusting their crossed arms or shuffling their feet with uncertainty.

Miku finally whispered, "Celeste . . . it's time to go."

_Where could I possibly go? What else was there to do?_

I didn't answer. I found myself typing up _Flightless Bird, American Mout_h in the search box of Nahlah's iTunes Library. Then, drawing my knees to my chest and hugging tight, I sat there listening to our first song, our first kiss. The memories of our dance throbbed my heart with this new warmth that had been forgotten. It was warm—even worth smiling over as I fondly recalled our jokes and petty, timid exchange of words during the dance—but saddening again. My heart knotted in pain again.

Another hour passed.

Miho had left for reasons unknown to me, while Miku stood quietly at the door behind me. It was a strange feeling to be near another Runner, yet at the same time I felt like no one else existed around me. My existence revolved around the existence of Nahlah. Now she was gone. The Shard Sisters didn't seem to exist—or maybe it was me that didn't exist anymore.

"Celeste—we have to go," said Miho, who rushed in panting a bit.

Miku turned to her alarmingly. "What is it?"

"Nahlah's absence has aroused question from her co-workers and neighbors, who called the police. There's gonna be a highly classified investigation of this exact place since Tony probably told Project Icarus about Nahlah—now _c'mon_!" Miho urgently gestured me to move.

I couldn't budge, though. My place was here, it always has been.

"CELESTE," urged Miku with frustration, "do you want to _die_?"

This triggered a cold flame inside me. I looked at her lifelessly. Before I could answer, whatever my response was going to be, the Shard Sisters grabbed my hands and pushed me along.

"You're not gonna die when she died to keep _you_ from dying!" growled Miku, pulling me to the back door.

I tugged at her hand at once, growling, "You have _no_ idea what you're talking about—"

"Dammit, Celeste," cursed Miku, "you're not the only one who loses someone. We lost our parents, and we got over it. Now c'mon!"

I stood there in disbelief: _How _dare_ she . . .!_

Miku glared at me. "Are you going to kill me? Celeste, if you want to see her face again, then c'mon."

I looked at her, her words lies and deliberate shots of pain.

Miku roared angrily, "C'mon! Let's get to the PK headquarters—we'll find something there about Nahlah. After all, Canon had been keeping tabs on her, right? How else did he know about her, where she lived, who she was, and how to abduct her?"

Before I could answer, they urged me along anyway. I heard the sirens in the distance, their blue lights pimples of blue light in the darkness.

When we took a breather on rooftops ten minutes later, Miku turned to me in a pant. "Look, I'm sorry. For everything I said. But now, you have to wake up."

I was looking at the dark Edge. It was silent, until I murmured, "I _am_ awake . . . but that's what hurts . . ."

_Flightless Bird, American Mouth_ was repeating itself in my head where I left it when we left.

Miku looked at me, ruffling her hand over her bangs and through her hair. She sighed. "Look . . . the best we can do for you is to find Nahlah's profile at the PK headquarters. Or the Shard, which is still in tact despite the damage Faith did on it. But that's where I'm sure they'll have a photo of her and any information you desire, whatever that is."

"I just . . . need to see her face," I whispered. "I can't . . . forget her—if I forget her face, I'll kill myself. The memories will become like a dream—!"

Miku grabbed me by the arms, whirled me around, and looked at me gently. "I don't trust you near the Edge. Now, c'mon . . . the sooner, the better."

Miho spoke up after silently observing me. "Celeste . . . what are we gonna do about your Black Neck comrades? They think you're dead, or at least missing."

"I don't care," I said quietly. "I don't care about them at all."

"I know that. You never did," continued Miho. "But, what are you gonna do if they catch you sneaking around when they haven't seen you for a week or so?"

"I dunno. But I don't care about them."

Miku turned around, ready to jump the Edge. "C'mon. You know how to get there and how to get in."

--

I told them I didn't want to risk being seen by any familiar faces lounging around the headquarters. So, we snuck in the old Runner fashion way: the vents. My heart yearned for the face of Nahlah, which flickered in my mind constantly. Her face was the only reason why I came back to the place of the people who took her from me.

Sneaking in took time, but we finally found a computer in the darkness of a room left unmonitored. We typed in Project Icarus, and searched data. However, I found nothing about Nahlah no matter how much I searched. All I had were profiles of Trackers and Runners either "exterminated", or who were "unknown", or "highly classified"—I was in that last category. I also found profiles on the Black Necks Loraine, Pepper, Reagan, and Tony.

When Tony's profile downloaded, his face and profile data burned brightly at me—burned right into my heart, flickers and stabs of fire tormenting my very being. Violent fury trembled throughout my body as I gritted my teeth.

My fist curled, ready to smash the screen, but Miku grabbed it and firmly clutched it. "Celeste . . ." she began.

I read his profile in total hatred—everything about his height, ethnicity, hair color, eye color, skin color, built, diet, hobbies, skills, location, occupation, and his relationship.

When my eyes swept across "relationship: girlfriend", I hated every little letter on the whole screen, every word describing the murderer of my beloved.

Agony took over me. Suddenly, a feeling of naseau, which turned into rippling loathing, ripped out of my throat:

I screamed, or roared, I couldn't tell.

Instantly, Miku covered my mouth to shut me up.

Then, voices. They hurried to our dark room.

"C'MON!" hissed Miku. She and her sister dashed to a desk, jumped, and hauled themselves back into the vent opening we came in through. Before I could react, the lights went on, security locked down, and three familiar faces barged in. A trail of Blues followed them, all arms aimed at me.

_"Cel?"_ Loraine paused, lowering her gun.

On either side of her, Reagan and Pepper gawked, immediately dropping their weapons.

I recovered from my numb, delayed reaction: I turned and headed for the vent in the ceiling, but Pepper cried out:

"Cel, stop!"

"Celeste," begged Loraine.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling cold and indifferent to their words or their existence. Reluctantly, I barely peered over my shoulders at them as they approached me cautiously, as if I was a ghost.

"We . . . oh my god . . ." whispered Loraine, half-dazed as she looked me over. I appeared frigid and dead to her, I was sure.

I didn't understand: I thought they'd shoot me at sight. Was it maybe that _only_ Tony and his goons knew about Nahlah and I, but no one else? Was _that_ his act of mercy, the only thing I could thank and appreciate him for? Did they believe I was killed in the explosion, while Tony was shot down by a Runner or something?

Reagan stared at me with an illegible expression. Her gaping eyes slowly fell upon the computer screen I had been hovering over. Her eyes, to my surprise, welled with small tears at first, but she blinked them away. They never fell. Her eyes lowered to the floor, then back at me, as I slowly turned around as if anticipating betrayal.

". . . We're sorry . . ." whispered Pepper, spotting Tony's profile. ". . . We're _so,_ so, so sorry, about Tony . . ."

Like an awakened beast, my heart ruptured as I glared at her. But I couldn't burst out like I thought I would over the mention of the person I hated the most. My whole body quaked, fists quivering, teeth biting into themselves, eyes stinging from the numb tears that silently fell.

The Black Necks stared at me in silence, heads lowering. Even the Blues seem to sense the significance of a fallen comrade and remained still with silence.

My comrades were still breathing slightly awkwardly at the sight of me.

Before anyone could speak, Loraine quietly pressed against her earpiece. She nodded, murmured, "_What?_ . . . You sure!? . . . Bring them up", then turned to the two other girls.

"Security caught two Runners—the . . . Shard Sisters," she murmured, baffled.

Reagan and Pepper blinked at her. However, that seemed like little matter to them when everyone's attention flicked back to me. I stood there, eyes averted, trembling over how they were sympathizing me for the wrong reasons.

Pepper gave a strong sigh of disbelief and relief as she sat down in a chair. She ran her gloved hand through her hair, eyes staring at me, a look trying to fight back tears. Reagan remained frozen, still looking at me with this mixture of sympathy and disbelief shining in her eyes. Loraine took a few hesistant steps toward me.

"Celeste . . . I can't believe it . . ." she murmured.

I looked at her, then glared away.

I figured if Tony never told anyone about Nahlah, then it had to stay that way. I couldn't tell them to sympathize for me because I lost Nahlah, not Tony. Nahlah had to remain nonexistent to Project Icarus, just as I had initially planned—just like I initially failed to maintain.

Five minutes later, Black Necks walked in, tasers pressed against the backs of the Shard Sisters. They were fighting back vigorously, but their captors just jabbed them with the metal tasers. Handcuffed, they were helpless.

One of their captors told Loraine, "They claim they saved Agent Post from the explosion, that they nurtured her."

"Hard to believe," snapped Reagan quietly, walking to them. She folded her arms and looked them down with contempt.

"Celeste!" barked Miku, while her sister emitted grunts of effort to free herself. Her captor gripped harder, while one of the Blues hit her in the face.

"DAMMIT, you bastard!" cursed Miku, lunging in vain for Miho's tormentor.

Miho lifted her head despite the blow, and cried out to me, "Celeste, tell them the truth!"

I looked at them stonely. My comrades turned to me, as Reagan pressed, "Is it true, Cel? They saved you?"

"Tell them, Cel," urged Miku fiercely. She scowled the Black Necks. "We were practically her fucking _shepards_ for the past week!"

_Radio Beam . . . Nahlah . . . the wooden figurine . . . her smile. _

My innards boiled again at the flashbacks. I took an involuntary step backwards, as if cornered, glaring into space.

"Cel?" Pepper rushed to me shakily, as if to catch me. I pushed her away weakly, submitting to my emotional torment.

"Celeste—the RUNNERS!" blurted Miho, as if trying to remind me of someone. I knew she was talking about, but that worsened my emotional state.

"Yeah, they nursed me back," I told the Black Necks quietly, tightening my jaw shut and clenching my fists. "But they don't matter to me."

Loraine nodded quietly, then gestured to the Shard Sisters' guards. "Take them away."

I noticed the sisters' stares of disbelief before I turned around, facing a random wall. I dared to only listen to their vain grunts of efforts and roars of rage, while Miku shouted, "WE SAVED YOU! You BITCH!"

"I never . . . needed saving . . ." I whispered.

Their voices faded away. Reagan said aloud, thoughtfully, "I bet you anything Liutenant Miller has been informing them of what's been going on—about Cel's betrayal, about Faith and such. Who knows, they probably had been sheltering Faith. We should pay Miller a visit in prison."

"I'll dispatch an interrogator to him," said Loraine. She turned to me. "As for the Shard Sisters—whom been hiding under the last name of the Takahiros—we should thank them for nurturing Celeste. They'll be imprisoned, but with special care. Right now, our top priotority, though, is Celeste . . ."

They all silently looked at me, while Reagan dismissed the extra Blues and Black Necks from the room. Pepper silently looked at Tony's profile, then back at me. Meanwhile, Loraine tried to put a hand on my shoulder, but I backed away as if repelled by an invisible force. I didn't want to be touched by anything in this world.

"Celeste . . ." began Loraine.

My eyes flickered back to Tony's odious profile. I blurted, "Take me to Tony's. _Now."_

There was a tangible shocked silence. The girls looked at me. Then, Loraine nodded quietly, swallowing. "Yeah. Sure."


	35. Still Alive

Chapter 35:

Still Alive

Reagan volunteered to drive me, while Loraine and Pepper went to interrogate the Shard Sisters and Litenant Miller.

The car trip was silent and cold. Above the city's dark crown, glints of the moon shot upon us. Like the blade of a knife, the sharp, sweet sadness gutted me again as I mourned Nahlah, yet loathed Tony. Next to me, Reagan never looked at me.

After a while, she finally whispered, ". . . What happened . . .?"

"Shouldn't I ask you that?"

Reagan refused to look at me, eyes stringently and firmly on the road. ". . . Reports of the explosion reached us the ten minutes since it went off. We got there, found Tony's half-burnt body, and you nowhere to be reported seen. Patrol cops who survived or witnessed the events that occurred recalled the attempts to shoot down Runners that infiltrated their security. So, we knew instantly that it was a Runner's fault. For Tony's death, and what we assumed was your death . . ."

"Did you search for me?" I whispered coolly.

". . . Of course . . ."

"You shouldn't have."

Reagan still didn't look at me, while I wearily analyzed her tight expression.

". . . I understand your loss," murmured Reagan, who said it carefully and slowly as if ready to defend against my pounce of agony. ". . . I'm sorry. I truly am. Tony was . . . our friend."

I said nothing.

". . . We'll get those bastards, those Runners," said Reagan through gritted teeth, voice unusually low. ". . . When we do, I'll let you take up the burden of revenge."

Her strangely consoling words nurtured this blossoming thirst for vengeance inside me. Yet, I didn't reply.

When we got there, Reagan locked the door behind us and shut all curtains and doors. Next, she gestured me to follow her to Tony's bedroom, where she pulled out a drawer and took out a laptop. We sat at Tony's dining table as she typed away and gained access to his desktop. There, it took her a while to surf through folders and other files, but then she finally presented me a solitary file within a folder labeled "Cell Phone".

My heart cringed repugnantly: Tony's brief, absurd nickname for me.

Reagan said, "After Tony's death, we made it highly significant that his cause of death and everything before his death was examined. There was something wrong about when, where, and how he died. I got a hacker to break his password and found this file. I didn't mention it to the others, though."

_Shit. Nahlah . . .!_

Before I could do anything, Reagan clicked. Pictures of Nahlah and everything about her popped up. But just before my heart could explode from dread, Reagan slid the heavy laptop in front of me. Aghast, I stared from her to the laptop.

"All I know is that this Runner—that 'Nahlah' from Spa&Soul—takes full responsibility for his death. Her death for his. 'An eye for an eye' . . ." murmured Reagan, holding my gaze as if gratefully and respectfully sharing a burden with me. "I didn't read anything else. I had a feeling you were alive."

"Not really," I murmured, staring at all the countless pictures of Nahlah.

After a long pause of absorbing every detail, every wave of her hair, every cock of her hip, arch of her eyebrow, every awkward smile of Nahlah, I whispered: ". . . Can you leave me?"

Reagan looked at me, then silently got up and left. I heard the main door click softly, leaving me in peace, as I cried and cried over Nahlah's face.

--

I printed only the more focused photos of Nahlah out of Tony's printer, while deciding to take his laptop for "research behind his death". By the time I mournfully folded and stuffed Nahlah's photos into my pockets, Reagan hurried in.

"C'mon," she ordered carefully yet swiftly, "Pep called. We found Faith Connors."

I looked at her. I couldn't belive my ears. You'd think Faith have left the city, but she was still here. Now that my head was fresher, I regretted not asking Miku and Miho about the whereabouts of Faith Connors. But that was back when I didn't care about anything. Even back then I didn't care about Faith. Long after I betrayed her, I had no intentions of knowing anything about her, for she was the past I wanted to leave behind, the past of my Runner life.

Reagan silently looked at Tony's laptop in my grasp, then led me out to her car. We drove off toward the Shard, which was nearly done to restoration. Things were happening so fast. Black Necks, police cars, helicopters, SWAT teams, and protesting crowds were crowding the streets. It was so late at night, nearly midnight. I couldn't believe I quickly transitioned from being in the world of Nahlah to this world of pursuits, crime, justice, injustice, and darkness.

The city was loud and suffocating, like an enclosing sphere around me. My surroundings were densed with authority and civilians alike.

"Save the Runners!" roared the protestors, who pushed against the defensive lines of Blues, Black Necks, and SWAT backup.

"Why the protests so late at night?" I asked Loraine.

Loraine looked at me, this strange, triumphant, yet respectful glint in her eyes. "You've been gone for so long, Celeste. Since the arrest of the Shard Sisters, there are only two Runners left. A 6 foot 17-year-old African boy named Ethan Boushard, and Faith Connors."

My eyes widened slightly. The news were certainly exciting. I took a look at Loraine's eyes as well as Reagan and Pepper's.

This was the moment they'd been waiting for. Their faces tensed with determination, yet calm anticipation.

"They have nowhere to go," said Reagan coolly, yet calmly. "This city is different, now. The last Runners are like immigrants in this new world."

"There's no way Faith or Ethan can run or hide," declared Pepper solemnly. She folded her arms, and inhaled. "After years and years, Project Icarus has finally met its triumphant deadline."

"I wouldn't be so sure," I told them sternly, folding my arms. I looked up at the Shard and the many rooftops the Runners could use surrounding it. "Running is what they do best. It takes two or more Black Necks to take a Runner on. Pressing the masses on Faith will not bring her down, I thought I told you that."

"What? You have _faith_ in her?" said Reagan, not meaning to jeer or be sarcastic. It was a mere question.

She looked at me in this way that made me knew a separate message she tried to convey: she and I were the only ones who knew about Nahlah. But in truth, I was the only one who knew about Nahlah's existence as well as her nonexistence. And I knew she had nothing to do with tonight.

Tonight was a whole new life, torn and crippled like a page in a book.

I shook looked up at the dark sky. ". . . I want to go to bed. Let's finish this."

--

When a figure was spotted jumping rooftops five minutes from where we were, copters were sent after him. It was Ethan. The African's dark skin apparently allowed him to mingle with the darkness of the night and building shadows. His appearance sent the civilians in a loud, rebellious, yet praising applause.

Excited, a riot broke out.

"Celeste, let's go!" ordered Pepper.

The two of us followed the others as we entered a copter that was sent for us by Raine. Blues and SWAT protected us from the riots advancing toward all copters and police cars. From there, the copter dispatched us onto higher grounds with multiple other Black Necks. When we landed on the rooftop, all of us, fully dressed in our dark attires, stood behind Loraine.

"Project Icarus, initiate," commanded Loraine. "TAKE. DOWN. FAITH. CONNORS!"

We sprinted off on Loraine's command.

Below us, all forms of authority—SWAT teams and Blues—were overwhelmed by Runner supporters. It was a violent madness as blows were taken to the face on both sides. There was no shooting, surprisingly, but the protestors successfully overtook the Blues, stealing their guns or throwing them aside. However, the SWAT teams were harder to overtake, considering their heavy armor and weaponry. Civilians resistances were interrupted easily, but that didn't stop them from going around the SWAT, breaking windows of cars, lamps, and buildings of all sorts. Some rebels cheered, others roared, swaying the atmosphere of war in a new world.

--

I was back where I was.

Project Icarus.

All for Nahlah. All for nothing, now.

I had no choice but to live—to live the life that was Nahlah's, the life that she gave up for me, the life that was hers that was now mine. Live a dark, endlessly falling life, on the Edge—between what was life and death. For her sake, just like I promised her.

As I ran, feeling the wind against my face for the first time, seeing nothing but darkness and twinkles of light here and there, I realized I didn't like the idea. I didn't want to run solely for Project Icarus, I wanted to run for the Edge.

In my earpiece, I heard a Black Neck declare: "We have caught Ethan Boushard. Repeat, Ethan Boushard has been detained."

"Copy that," returned Loraine proudfully. "All PK units keep it sharp. Our top prioritory is now Faith Connors. Bring. Her. _Down_."

To keep Running, I didn't want that. I had been Running all my life, whether from love, to love, after a Runner, or from life. I didn't want to run anymore. Even if Project Icarus was over and that "peaceful, utopian" world was achieved, what would happen after _that_? Would bringing utopia to this city bring Nahlah back?

What good was all that to me when I didn't have Nahlah? I didn't have anyone to share a utopian world with.

A long search for Faith lasted for so long, I lost track of time. Darkness had engulfted time with its very presence. It had engulfed me. I couldn't see anymore; I couldn't taste, smell, feel, or hear anything worthy to live for, to run for.

I seemed to float as I suddenly found myself jumping off the Edge. And I jumped off the Edge again. And again. I stopped at the lowest rooftop, looking below me. The riots continued to tremble in the streets: I heard the beautiful, bell-like echo of breaking glass scattering everywhere; the cries of Blues being taken down by civilians fighting for the Runners; the ripping, addictive, sudden blasts of gunshots; the cry of sirens and civilians; the blur of the multiple copters reigning the dark skies.

Standing there on the Edge, I watched this "utopian" world bloom from the depths of darkness, knowing another new world would eventually reborn from the ashes. I just didn't want to know what kind of new world.

A door burst behind me. A group of random protestors, mostly men and a few women, pointed at me.

"There's a Black Neck! Get him!"

"Save the Runners!"

"Bastards!"

I turned around, standing there on the Edge, looking at their angry, pain-twisted faces. An awkward, bobbing mass of unknown faces aimed to kill me, charging.

And one of them pushed me.

Gravity pulled me so quickly and darkly, as if I was falling by a long black curtain: the flapping, quick scream of the wind whistled in my ears. I went limp, heart thudding, then holding its breath, waiting.

The worst pain I have ever physically felt bruised throughout my being like I had been boxed many life times. I felt crushed. That awful silence of pain took over, until I finally gasped out a choking cry of anguish. Pain weighed against me, ripping my bones and muscles apart, tearing through me as though I were cloth, sinking in slowly like a knife. I felt dead, yet in alive in my suffering.

I was still alive.

Underneath me, the earth moved; bones cracked, joints stabbed into my back and the nape of my neck; there was moaning. Choking and gasping shuddered below me.

Finally, the person rolled out from underneath me.

I rolled my head to the side, looking up at a blurry portrait of a dark silhouette.

Finally, after struggling to get up against a wall, she looked over her shoulders at me, trembling from the pain I gave her for landing on her.

My mind swayed.

_. . . Nahlah . . .!?_

"NAHLAH!" I gasped loud and clear, tears choking me.

I threw my protective mask off, sat right up, and gawked.

Then, she kicked me in the side. I gasped, as if holding the pain, as if hoping if I held my breath I wouldn't feel it. As I lay there, clutching my stomach, she towered over me in panicked pants.

". . . You . . ." she began, breath shuddering in total repugnance.

That_ wasn't Nahlah._

I gasped, ". . . _Faith_—ack—?"

Faith stood up, a blast of city lights exposing half her face. There was the familiar tattoo and solemn, iron frown. I was still gasping from the pain, grunting to hold my cries in.

"How'd you . . . what'd you do to NAHLAH!?" she growled, alto voice gradually raising.

She glared at me, darkening the eye tattoo. Standing closer, she peered right over me; I noticed through my painful state that her hair had grown slightly longer. As the painful minutes passed, I couldn't say anything. I just waited. For anything. For another kick, Nahlah, or even death.

Then, Faith stepped backwards and sunk into the darkness.

_She didn't kill me . . ._

I rolled onto my front, pressing quaking hands flat against the cement that should have taken my life.

_Why didn't she _kill_ me!_ I thought furiously. _If the Edge didn't kill me, why couldn't _she_?_

She could have _killed_ me—right there, in that alley, while we were both alone; me vulnerable, weak, and unable to live on.

An anger pulled at my heartstrings. I found myself slowly and painfully supporting myself onto my hands and knees. Grunting, I attempted to get up from my knees, but my body buckled under the merciless ache of my bones from my fall onto Faith.

Then, I turned around and followed pursuit. As soon as I were to get on the rooftops, I knew I could find her eventually. I remembered her style, her way of the Runner's Vision, how she saw escape routes.

As I desperately searched the darkness for a familiar moving shadow, I pressed against my comms: "I have found Faith Connors—I am in pursuit, I repeat, I am in _pursuit_."

Pepper replied to my news, shouting, "All units merge with Post and take down Faith Connors!"

Reagan shouted, "We're tracking your comms right now, Cel. We're sending reinforcements. Get her!"

A quick flicker caught my eye. Up ahead, city lights flashed Faith's familiar lean outline. Without thinking twice, I leaped the Edge in pursuit.

--

It suddenly felt like a long journey, an odyssey, as I gradually gained on Faith. The more I kept up the pace, the lighter I felt; the more focused things felt around me. I didn't even have to stop and think how to calculate a jump or climb. I just _did_ it. No thoughts. The Runner's flow returned to me: so simple, swift, yet light and free. For a moment, I actually _forgot_ I was chasing a Runner and ex-comrade. It was too second-nature to me. That was how much I tuned the rest of the world out, along with my efforts.

If only life was like this . . .

Faith was still a great distance ahead of me. Every now and then she would drop behind the dark horizons of a building, then I would see her in a lit alley, street, then onto another rooftop again. I followed her on and off staircases, rooftops, and porches; I swung poles, vaulted over wired electrical fences, boxes, buildings, wall-ran trucks, slid down pipes or crashed through doors to catch up.

Faith eventually brought me through a door. I chased her all the way through. Just as I burst through the door leading back outside after her, a shadow jumped over my head. The moment the Black Neck landed, I kept Running ahead. The Black Neck caught up, by my side within seconds.

"Go, Cel," huffed Pepper behind the mask. "This one's yours. We've got your back."

I didn't answer. I picked up my legs so that only my toes lightly tapped the cement. I relaxed my arms, focused "pulling" at my abdomen and sliding only my shoulders, as I sped ahead. Pepper was close at my heels. We gained on Faith, who took a sudden sharp turn to the right, sliding down a pipe. Pepper and I remained persistent, choosing a quicker route to her as she leapt another Edge.

Ahead of us, by the light of the rooftop's lights, we saw another Black Neck jump, land, and lunge for Faith with a taser.

She got struck, but stumbled and kept pulling herself far from danger.

"Shit!" cursed Reagan as we caught up next to the Black Neck.

Ray veered to my left side, Pepper on my right, as we pursued Faith. While I vaulted another wire, Pep slid through hole in a wired fence, and Reagan executed a wall-run over the fence. Faith was still a ways ahead of us.

"Don't worry. We have her surrounded," said Loraine on our comms. "As we hope, if she keeps running that way, she'll eventually be at the Edge. Copters will await her off the Edge with armed SWAT cops. Blues will swarm the interiors while we flank our PK units on either side. With you, Ray, and Pep on her tail, she'll have nowhere to go."

"Perfect!" huffed Reagan. "Let's go."

My comrades slightly turned to look at me, nodded, as we sprinted side-by-side.

And ahead of us, as we leapt a few rooftops, we saw Faith skid to a wary halt. Racing to catch up, we gradually slowed down, for a copter emerged from the Edge in front of Faith, two SWAT cops aimed at her. She swiftly veered to the right, but four SWATs met her with their guns. She veered again the moment she saw them, but Loraine led back-up Black Necks to a halt. Again, Faith wheeled the moment she saw them, but when she turned, the three of us stood there.

"The last Runner," called out Loraine, smiling grimly. "What an honorable title. Is it worth dying with?"

Faith looked at me, glared, turned, and charged toward the Edge and the copter.

"Give it up, Connors," shouted Loraine, "you don't _have_ to die—!"

Faith was still Running, though.

Instinctively, I burst forward in pursuit. Reagan and Pepper followed, while the SWAT cops in the copter shot at her. We were close on her tail, me in the lead.

"What is she _doing_—STOP SHOOTING BEFORE YOU SHOOT OUR BLACK NECKS, YOU IDIOTS!" roared Loraine.

_Clever move, Faith:_ she was willing to use herself as bait to lure us into the bullets meant for her.

"CEASE FIRE!" bellowed Loraine. "PEP, RAY, CEL—!"

It was too late. Reagan was thrown back like a rag by the bullets, while Pepper toppled heavily bit by the rain of bullets. I got hit in the arm, while Faith took a bullet in her side and a gash along her arm; her blood sprayed freely in the wind of the copter's blades onto my attire.

The final leap of Faith.

She soared over the blades of the copter, rather be taken by the Edge than by Project Icarus. I soared, too. I followed her over the blades of authority into the fall of freedom.

That very three seconds of soaring, feeling like a thrown tennis ball reaching for the sunshine and blue sky, set me free. All burdens, all sorrows, and all fleeting memories of happiness and pain, washed from my body as if I had been purified. The lightness of dusk-colored air greeted me—its emptiness enclosed me like blooming wings, ripping at my clothes, at my hair, at my face. The wind was so merciful, like that of a lover's kiss, cool along my skin. Like Nahlah's lips.

That second of freedom suddenly turned into a rolling gut-feeling that flipped as I gradually fell.

Could you believe it? It was as if Faith knew that hanging platform from a crane was there the entire time. But I knew better as the Runner following her: that was pure luck.

That moment of lightness pulled me down heavily that I thought I was going to die. Instead, I landed behind the Runner two seconds after she did a tuck-and-roll with an outcry of pain. Then, she dragged herself a little further, holding her leaking side, and jumped again onto the rooftop of the building on the far other side.

"GET HER, CELESTE!" shrieked Loraine.

Her shriek reminded me of the fact that both Reagan and Pepper had been shot. I didn't know their outcome, nor would I ever. Their very existences evaporated from my thoughts like receding water.

I landed behind Faith, whose last efforts were drained from her last leap that ensured her safety. The moment she knew she was on another rooftop, she crumbled to her side, coughing, covering her bloody wound.

Behind us, the wind chopped at our hair as the same helicopter emerged. The SWAT cops aimed their guns, but I pulled out mine and fired at them, then the helicopter itself. A bubble of fire roared furiously at its side, tilting the helicopter, wounded, downward. It crashed into a skyscraper.

"WHAT THE _HELL_!" cried Loraine in shock.

I quickly turned, reached down, and supported the wounded Runner up. I forced her weak arm over my shoulder, while I carefully pulled at the belt hoops of her cargo pants to keep her up. She coughed and cried out in pain, while I slowly walked us further from sight.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, CELESTE!?" screamed Loraine.

". . . What I should have done long ago," I grunted into my earpiece, trying to drag Faith from gun sight.

"CELESTE—Pep and Ray just got shot—because of _her_—Tony died—because of the _Runners_!" Loraine's words were a frenzy of confused hurt and anger. "CELESTE! I have no control over _this_, I can't save you from this—they'll _shoot_ you!"

.". . . I shoulda been dead long ago, Raine, as a Runner . . ." I murmured, tightening my grip on Faith.

"CELESTE!" she roared.

A helicopter suddenly rained in on us just as we dragged ourselves behind protective walls on the rooftop. Before I could pull out my gun, the copter was shot again. Startled with a jolt through my heart, I looked up.

Miho stood up from a nearby rooftop, cocking her gun. I looked at her in disbelief, to which she returned with a smile of hope and gratitude, especially when she saw Faith.

Then, nearby from another rooftop, another gunshot exploded. It took down three Black Necks who had emerged stealthily from another rooftop adjourning ours. Miku joined Miho, reloaded her gun, and fired three bullets at the glass windows of the building Loraine's team stood on.

I watched as the huge shards fell slowly like icebergs. Sparks of the sunrise, which I just noticed, winked off the glass, reintroducing the Mirror's Edge. Those glints suddenly reminded me of the life I left—the Edge and my life with Nahlah—and the life that would remain with me.

"DAMMIT, Cel!" begged Loraine in fury. "GO, GO, GO—SHOOT THEM ON SIGHT!"

"People are Runners, too, Raine," I told her calmly. "Faith is a Runner, Tony was a Runner, I'm a Runner, and so are you. We all run. From things, from life . . ."

"CELES—!"

I ripped my comms out and threw it over the Edge.

"Let's go," said Miku, aiming her gun warily at our enemy on the other building across from us.

"E?" said Miho into an earpiece.

"That's Ethan," said Miku, urging me along. "He grabbed a track. He'll take us out of here and we can patch up Faith."

While Miho helped me with Faith, Miku kept our enemies at gunpoint, even though they were far away.

As I supported Faith, Miho had been looking at me questioningly and warily. However, I sensed the warmth from her expression. I ignored her as I looked down at Faith, gritting her teeth to bite in the pain gutting her in the side—at how she was still able to live despite everything she'd lost. She had lost her mother, her father, me, then Merc, then nearly her sister, and who knows what else.

We retreated in silence. Light flurries of memories of Nahlah burdened my very awakening. They were fleeting memories, sometimes like the broken wings of a bird staggering in the air away from me. Like the simple sight of an empty bottle melting into the warm sunlight in the sea, away from beach in Mexico, the memories of Nahlah suddenly lifted my very heart, as if my heart had been given wings. It was a beautiful, sad heart-tearing thought not to be able to claim that beauty that was mine, but I knew I would see it again.

_Nahlah . . ._

_Because of you, I lived. I will keep living._

_You taught me to love something, besides Running, running from something to love—and it was you. Thank you. I will miss you—I already miss you. So, so much. I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I'm sorry for everything._

_I'm sorry I can't think of anything else to say or atone for my mistake of losing you._

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ._

_I love you . . ._

Faith tried to walk upstraight, but I told her to be careful, while Miku urged us to go faster.

_What else could I possibly lose?_

I looked at the dawn of a new day, yet a day like any other day.

_. . . How long have you and Faith known each other—since of your employment as a Runner? I need to know everything you know. I need to know what you feel—I need you to know how _I_ feel:_

_I'm sorry, Nahlah. This is the best I can do. _

Faith winced, but the sisters held her strong.

_Well, Nahlah . . . what now?_

"Hurry," exclaimed Miku.

_. . . This isn't good-bye, Nahlah. Sooner or later, I will join you. I dunno when, but soon. But when Faith could have killed me, she saved me. So, I need to save her first . . ._

"It's against the city, Cel," urged Miku.

_P.S. I love you._

I listened to the Runner's grunts of effort to live on, and held onto Faith.

AUTHOR'S COMMENTS: I'm sorry everything had to end this way. But I needed to remind everyone that this was about the Mirror's Edge--Hope and Faith.


End file.
